POEMS  AND  SWEDISH  TRANSLATIONS. 


POEMS 


AND 


SWEDISH  TRANSLATIONS 


BY 


FREDERICK    PETERSON,   M.  D, 


"  Except  that  I  have  associated  for  a  season  with  the  rose  I  am 
the  same  clay  I  was  before" 

— GULISTAN  OF  SAADI. 


BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 

PETER  PAUL  &  BRO.,  PUBLISHERS, 

363  MAIN  STREET. 

1883. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

FREDERICK  PETERSON,  M.D. 
1883. 


PETER  PAUL  &  BRO.,  PRINTERS. 


\ 


TO 

AGNES  ETHEL 

THIS  VOLUME   IS   RESPECTFULLY 
DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS. 


To  MY  MOTHER.             .            .             .            .  15 

To  SIGFRIDE.            .            .            .             .  -17 

SORROW.              .            .            .             .             .  19 

THE  WATER-LILIES.              .             .            .  .21 

THE  QUEST.       .....  23 

IN  THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  SAADI.       .            .  25 

THE  POEM.          .....  27 

THE  STARS. — Franzen.          .             .             .  .29 

AN  UNFORGOTTEN  SONG.             .  31 

THE  ZOROASTRIAN.               .            .            .  -33 

THE  ROBBER.      .....  35 

A  MORNING  SONG.    .            .            .             .  -37 

A  HEALTH.          .....  39 

CHRISTMAS  EVE. — Runeberg.             .             .  41 

THE  WAYSIDE  CRUCIFIX.              ...  45 

A  FANCY.     .             .             .             .             .  -47 

THE  COFFIN  OF  ST.  JULIEN.        ...  49 

THE  CORONATION.                 .             .             .  51 

AT  THE  GREEN  FIR  TAVERN.       .             .             .  53 


LITTLE  KARIN. — Swedish  Folk-song.  .  .       55 

THE  ARROWS.      .....  59 

To  A  SONGSTRESS.     For  L.  C.         .          \.  .61 
WHAT  DYING  Is.              ....  63 

To  LITTLE  ROSALIE.  .  .  .  -65 

A  BALLAD  OF  WAR-TIME.  .  .  .  67 

WHY  DOES  IT  SIGH  so  HEAVY  IN  THE  FOREST. —  )      , 

Malmstrom.  \ 

NECKEN. — Stagnelius.     ....  73 

THE  PATH.  .  .  .  .  -75 

THE  DREAM  OF  THE  HYACINTH.  .  .  77 

AN  EXTRAVAGANZA.  .  .  .  -79 

A  DRINKING  SONG. — Bellman.  .  .  81 

WINTER.       .  .  .  .  .  -83 

SNOW.  .....  85 

THE  SICILIAN  TRIAD.  .  .  .  -87 

HIDE  AND  SEEK.  ....  89 

REMORSE.     .  .  .  .  .  91 

THE  CATACOMBS.  ....  93 

THE  BLUEBELLS'  CHORUS.  .  .  -95 

A  RAINY  NIGHT.  .  .  .  .  97 

IN  PRISON.  .  .  .  .  -99 

ROSES  ON  THE  GRAVE. — von  Braun.       .  .  101 

NECKROSEN. — Bottiger.         .  .  .  .103 

A  WISH.  .....  105 

I  WILL  SLUMBER. — von  Braun.          .  .  .     107 

THE  WONDERFUL  HARP. — Swedish  Folk-song.     .  109 

ON  THE  MOLDAU.       .  .       •  .  .       11 


To  LILI.              .            .            .            .  .119 

THE  LITTLE  COLLIER-BOY. — Geijer.  .            .121 

THE  LAPLANDER'S  SONG. — Franztn.       .  .           125 

THE  CRUSADER.        .            .            .  .             .129 

ASHES  TO  ASHES.             .            .            .  .131 

CRADLE-SONG  FOR  MY  HEART. — Runeberg.  .     133 

HAPPINESS.          .             .             .             .  .           137 

HER  SOUL  AND  BODY.           .             .  .             .139 

To  ELIN.             .            .            .            .  .141 

THE  BROOK,             .             .            .  .             .143 

THE  LOST  DREAMS.         .            .            .  .145 

NORRLAND. — Graf strom.       .             .  .             .     147 

IN  THE  HARZ.     .....  151 

THE  PYTHONESS.       .            .            .  .            .     153 

THY  BOUQUET.                .            .            .  .           155 

BETWEEN  THE  TWILIGHT  AND  THE  DAWN.  .     157 

EBBA  AF  HJELMSATER.    .            .            .  .           159 

THE  DEATH  OF  HOPE.          .            .  .            .161 

WITH  A  WATER-LILY. — Ibsen.                 .  .           163 

THE  FLAME  IN  THE  WIND.                .  .            .165 

THE  BELL.          .....  167 

THE  MUMMY.           .            .            .  .            .169 

To  Music.         .....  171 

To  THE  SILENT  KING.           .            .  .                  173 

AXEL.                  .            .            .            .  .           177 

NOTES  TO  AXEL.       .                         .  .            .     219 


"  How  the  flowers  of  the  aspen-plum  flutter  and  turn  !  Do  I  not 
think  of  you  ?  But  your  house  is  distant. 

The  Master  said,  '  It  is  the  want  of  thought  about  it.  How  is  it 
distant?'  " 

— K'UNG  FOO-TSZE. 


To  my  Mother.  1 5 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 


Through  these  long  months  thy  love  shall  bless 

A  lonely  roamer  over  seas, 
So  love  me  more  and  sorrow  less. 


Each  tender  smile,  each  past  caress — 

How  very  dear  to  him  are  these, 
Whom  through  long  years  thy  love  shall  bless, 


1 6  To  my  Mother. 

Who  to  his  bosom  aye  shall  press 

The  new-found  flower  of  love — heartsease  ! 
So  love  me  more  and  sorrow  less. 


To  listening  Fates  each  night  address 

A  low-voiced  prayer  upon  thy  knees, 
That  they  long  years  our  love  may  bless. 


Perhaps  the  pitying  Sisters  guess 

How  Hope  the  loveless  bosom  flees  : 
Love,  love  me  more — to  sorrow  less  ! 


Love  shall  come  back  in  tenderness, 
Across  the  months,  across  the  seas, 
The  steadfast  love  thy  love  does  bless  ; 
So  love  me  more  and  sorrow  less. 


To  Sigfride.  17 


TO  SIGFRIDE. 


The  sweetest  flower  that  blows 
I  give  you  as  we  part ; 

For  you  it  is  a  rose  ; 
For  me  it  is  my  heart. 


The  fragrance  it  exales, 
(Ah  !  if  you  only  knew) 

Which  but  in  dying  fails, 
It  is  my  love  of  you. 


1 8  To  Sigfride. 

The  sweetest  flower  that  grows 
I  give  you  as  we  part ; 

You  think  it  but  a  rose ; 
Ah,  me  !  it  is  my  heart. 


Sorrow.  19 


SORROW. 


She  came  as  queen  in  robes  of  gray  ; 

A  doleful  chant  her  maidens  sung  ; 
She  drove  alas  !  all  joy  away, 

With  her  sad  eyes  and  mournful  tongue. 


"  And  art  thou  really  Sorrow  ?  "  her 

Some  sudden  fancy  made  me  ask  ; 
She  answered  not,  but  I  aver, 

She  smiled,  the  rogue,  behind  her  mask  ! 


The  Water-lilies.  21 


THE  WATER-LILIES. 


On  slender  piles  above  the  river, 
The  mansions  of  the  lakemen  stand  ; 

The  calm,  blue  waters  kiss  and  quiver ,' 
The  airs  bring  perfume  from  the  land. 


All  day  the  lakemen  dreaming  lie, 
The  fine  airs  over,  waters  under, 

On  golden  beds  beneath  the  sky 

Which  sunshine  makes  a  golden  wonder. 


22  The  Water-lilies. 

At  night-fall  close  their  four  green  doors, 

Lest  some  stray  moonbeam,  dangerous  fellow, 

Should  feast  upon  the  precious  stores 
Of  perfume  and  of  honey  mellow. 


All  night  the  lakemen  lie  in  slumbers, 
The  too  sweet  day  in  sleep  forgetting ; 

The  waves  chime  low  in  tuneful  numbers  ; 
No  memory  makes  a  vain  regretting. 


Happy  the  lakemen  dreaming  so, 
Upon  their  couches  golden-yellow, 

With  nought  of  sorrow  or  of  woe — 

Would  I  were  with  them,  careless  fellow  ! 


The  Quest.  23 


THE  QUEST. 


"  Where  is  my  body?  I  cannot  find  it ! 
"  I  have  been  seeking  the  wide  world  over. 
"  O  who  could  hide  it,  O  who  could  bind  it, 
"  From  me  a  roamer,  a  lonely  rover? 
"  Where  is  my  body?  I  cannot  find  it  !•" 


When  from  the  earth-life  her  soul  was  parted, 
It  stood  in  silence  and  woe  and  wonder, 
And  now  her  spirit  seeks  broken-hearted 
Her  body  lying  the  green  earth  under — 
Ah  !  from  her  body  her  soul  is  parted. 


24  The  Quest. 

And  ever  vainly  her  gentle  spirit 

Is  seeking,  seeking  the  wide  world  over  ; 

She  loved  the  earth-life,  she  would  be  near  it ; 

She  seeks  her  body,  the  lonely  rover, 

Ah,  ever  vainly,  the  gentle  spirit ! 


In  the  Rose- Garden  of  Saadi.  25 


IN  THE  ROSE-GARDEN  OF  SAADI. 


A  rare  old  garden  this  is,  Saadi  ; 
You  made  it  centuries  ago, 
But  roses  here  still  bloom  and  blow, 

And  souls  are  called  here  from  the  body 
To  wander  happily  to  and  fro. 


A  rare  old  garden,  Saadi,  this  is, 

To  walk  in  when  the  winds  are  brusk ; 
These  flowers  exale  an  opiate  musk 

Which  soothes  the  spirit  in  its  blisses 
Afloat  upon  the  purple  dusk. 


26  In  the  Rose- Garden  of  Saadi. 

This  garden,  Saadi,  rare  and  old  is ; 
Whom  can  I  ask  to  share  its  bloom, 
Its  damask  vapors  and  perfume, 

Its  red  beds  where  the  sunset's  gold  is  ? 
Whom  else  to  share  it,  Saadi,  whom  ? 


The  Poem.  27 


THE  POEM. 


Alas  !  (how  sad  a  word  alas  is  !) 
I  would  again  I  were  that  room  in 
So  dear  because  of  one  dear  woman 

Whom  Memory  meets  but  never  passes, 
The  chamber  her  great  eyes  illumine — 

Alas  !  how  sad  a  word  alas  is  ! 


She  was  a  Poem,  a  sweet  thing  created 
By  God  or  some  undreamed-of  forces, 
Planned  ere  the  suns  began  their  courses, 

And  in  long  ages  after  fated 

To  seek  again  her  secret  sources — 

A  gentle  Poem,  some  sweet  thing  created. 


28  The  Poem. 

How  very  sad  my  soul,  alas,  is, 
To  be  again  the  splendid  room  in, 
Which  those  two  torches  do  illumine, 

Where  Memory  halts  and  never  passes 
Because  of  love  of  one  dear  woman, 

But  kneels  remote  in  shadowy  masses  ! 


The  Stars.  29 


THE  STARS. 

From  the  Swedish  of  F.  M.  Franzen. 

Little  Fanny  looked  so  glad 
At  the  shining  stars  and  said, 
"  With  how  many  eyes  I  see 
"  God  look  down  on  me  !  " 


"  God  is  also  still  more  near, 
"  Fanny  !   see  the  flowers  here. 
"  Just  as  God's  eyes,  flowers  thus 
"  Friendly  look  on  us." 


30  The  Stars. 

"  Mother  !  now  first  clear  and  fair 
"  Do  I  see  Him.     Know  you  where  ? 
"  There  from  out  your  eyes  I  see 
"  God  smile  down  on  me  !  " 


An  Unforgotten  Song.  31 


AN  UNFORGOTTEN  SONG. 


One  day  to  me  an  angel  gave 
A  melody  unknown  of  men  ; 

Down  in  my  heart  I  made  a  grave- 
The  song  I  buried  then. 


I  did  not  make  the  grave  so  deep, 
But  that  through  many  a  lonely  hour, 

Its  ghost  now  haunts  me  in  my  sleep, 
With  all  its  mournful  power. 


32  An  Unforgotten  Song. 

The  music  murmurs  in  my  sleep 
In  melody  unknown  to  men  ; 

I  did  not  make  its  grave  so  deep 
But  that  it  comes  again. 


The  Zoroastrian.  33 


THE  ZOROASTRIAN. 


As  once  perhaps  in  olden  days 

Beneath  the  far-off  Persian  skies, 
Some  reverent  one  of  patient  ways 

Did  hours  before  the  sun  arise 
To  hasten  in  the  starlit  morn 

Up  some  high  hill  when  winds  were  cold, 
To  wait  the  moment  day  is  born, 

To  kneel  before  the  disk  of  gold ; 
And  when  the  long  rays  were  descried, 

Which  leaped  forth  from  the  golden  rim 
Of  that  great  star  he  deified, 

To  pour  out  orisons  to  him — 
As  may  have  done  this  devotee, 

I  wake,  I  wait,  I  kneel  to  thee. 


The  Robber.  35 


THE  ROBBKR. 


Quick  !  see  the  lawless  brigand  go 

Around  the  hill  and  through  the  wold, 

With  pearls  and  diamonds  all  aglow 
And  all  agleam  with  stolen  gold  ! 


Now  hidden  in  the  secret  woods, 
He  hath  no  longer  need  to  fret, 

But  softly  counts  his  precious  goods 
The  robber  is  the  rivulet. 


A  Morning  Song.  37 


A  MORNING  SONG. 


The  night  is  gone,  the  winds  renew, 
The  stars  have  vanished  one  by  one ; 

The  flowers  lift  their  cups  of  dew 
And  drink  a  health  unto  the  sun. 


The  air  is  full  of  orchard  blooms, 

And  soft  the  white  drifts  come  and  go ; 

They  fill  the  orchard's  ample  rooms 
With  their  sweet-scented  summer  snow. 


38  A  Morning  Song. 

I  could  no  longer  find  my  woes, 
Were  I  to  seek  them  all  the  day ; 

They  are  too  deep  in  summer  snows, 
The  orchard  blooms  are  in  the  way. 


A  Health.  39 


A  HEALTH. 


A  strange  Knight  with  his  visor  drawn, 

With  gleaming  eye  and  glancing  spear, 
Sought  entrance  at  the  gate  at  dawn  ; 
His  princely  voice  and  air  austere 
Bespoke  both  Knight  and  steed  good  cheer- 
But  ere  the  eve  the  guest  was  gone. 


Aye,  ere  the  eve  came  red  and  brown 
Up  from  the  ocean  with  the  breeze, 

The  stranger  left  the  coast  and  town, 
But  with  the  tairest  maid  of  these, 
To  cross  the  gray  November  seas, 

And  bind  her  to  his  foreign  crown. 


40  A  Health. 

Deep,  deep  this  bitter  cup  I  drain 
In  honor  of  her  gentle  eyes, 

Her  tender  mouth  that  showed  no  pain, 
Her  hair  blown  under  alien  skies, 
Of  her  become  the  plunderer's  prize, 

Of  her  I  shall  not  see  again  ! 


Christmas  Eve.  41 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 
From  the  Swedish  of  Rune  berg. 

The  moon  shone  white  upon  the  down  ; 

The  hungry  lynx  cried  in  the  hedge  ; 
The  dog's  long  howl  came  from  the  town, 

When  someone  walked  at  the  forest  edge, 
Whose  hut  lay  out  upon  the  wold  ; 
The  Christmas  Eve  was  drear  and  cold. 


He  quickened  wearily  his  pace, 
Upon  the  pathway  drifted  o'er, 

To  meet  his  dear  ones'  sweet  embrace  ; 
To  them  some  Christmas  bread  he  bore 

Asked  at  a  wealthy  farmer's  gate — 

For  they  themselves  but  bark-bread  ate. 


42  Christmas  Eve. 

It  darkened  more  and  more,  when  lo  ! 

He  saw  a  boy  alone  and  still, 
Who  sat  upon  the  drifted  snow 

And  breathed  within  his  fingers  chill ; 
And  by  the  twilight  still  undimmed 
Half-frozen  he  already  seemed. 


"  Ah,  whither  goest  thou,  poor  son? 

"  Come  home  with  me  and  warm  thee,  pray  !  " 
So  said,  he  took  the  frozen  one 

And  erelong  reached  the  garden  way 
Which  to  his  humble  cottage  led, 
His  guest  with  him  and  loaf  of  bread. 


His  wife  beside  the  fireplace  sat, 
The  youngest  child  upon  her  breast. 

"  You  were  so  long  in  coming  that 

"  You  must  be  tired.     Come  here  and  rest, 

"  And  you  come  too  !  " — so  kind,  so  true, 

The  stranger  to  the  hearth  she  drew. 


Christmas  Eve.  43 

It  was  not  long  before  her  care 

Had  made  the  red  flames  livelier  rise ; 

Unmindful  then  herself  to  spare, 

She  took  the  bread  with  glad  surprise, 

And  with  a  bowl  of  milk  in  store, 

Both  forward  for  the  supper  bore. 


Then  quickly  from  the  straw-strewn  floor 

Unto  the  table  sparely  laid 
The  happy  children  went  before, 

But  by  the  wall  the  stranger  staid  ; 
Yet  kindly  she  the  little  guest 
Led  to  a  place  among  the  rest. 


When  now  the  thankful  prayer  was  said, 
For  each  a  share  of  bread  she  broke. — 

"  Let  blessed  be  that  gift  of  bread  !  " 
So  from  the  bench  the  strange  lad  spoke, 

And  tears  his  shining  eyes  forsook 

As  he  the  offered  portion  took. 


44  Christmas  Eve. 

But  when  she  turned  to  break  again, 

Quite  whole  had  grown  the  loaf  he  blessed- 
She  fixed  her  eyes  in  wonder  then 

Upon  the  lad,  her  little  guest, 
When  still  more  marvellous  than  before, 
He  seemed  to  be  the  same  no  more. 


For  clear  as  stars  his  eyes  now  gleamed  ; 

A  halo  from  his  forehead  shone ; 
A  robe,  fall'n  from  his  shoulders,  seemed 

Like  mist  upon  the  breezes  blown, 
And  suddenly  an  angel,  fair 
As  any  in  the  skies,  was  there. 


Their  home  was  full  of  blissful  light ; 

Each  heart  with  hope  and  joy  was  fraught ; 
It  was  an  uniorgotten  night 

Within  the  good-man's  humble  cot ; 
No  feast  was  fairer  or  more  blest, 
Because  an  angel  was  their  guest. 


The  Wa\side  Cnuifix.  45 


THE  WAYSIDE  CRUCIFIX. 


A  wooden  Christ,  a  wooden  cross — 
They  mark  this  still  and  sacred  spot, 

Where  people  pause  to  pray  who  pass 
That  He  forget  them  not. 


The  winds  are  cold  and  black  the  skies, 
The  rain  falls  from  that  drooping  face 

Like  tears,  like  tears  from  sorrowing  eyes, 
And  floods  the  holy  place. 


46  The  Wayside  Crucifix. 

It  is  a  pitying  Christ !  alas  ! 

And  shall  I  halt  or  shall  I  flee  ? 
O  should  I  pray  here  as  I  pass 

That  He  forget  not  me  ? 


A  Fancy.  47 


A  FANCY. 


Some  snapping  asunder  of  strings  hath  bereft  us 
Of  thy  musical  laughter  so  sadder  than  weeping  ; 

And  some  kind  of  calmness  and  silence  is  left  us 
By  thy  marvellous  sleeping. 


Thy  innocent  heart  it  has  throbbed  into  breaking, 

And  a  trance  in  thy  face  makes  it  paler  and  colder- 
How  blest  is  the  fancy  there  may  be  a  waking 
When  the  ages  are  older  ! 


A  Fancy.  48 

That  somewhere  away  in  the  barren  abysses 

My  shadow  may  meet  thine,  and  mingle  in  meeting 

With  sweeter  caresses  than  those  of  our  kisses, 
Which  on  earth  were  so  fleeting  ! 


That  mine  may  afar  in  strange  regions  draw  near  it, 
Abroad  in  the  cold,  in  the  dim-lighted  spaces  ; 

That  again  and  again  and  again  the  dark  spirit 
It  may  clasp  in  embraces  ! 


O  Fancy,  sweet  Fancy,  steal,  steal  away  reason, 

And  tell  me  when  comes  this  divorcement  from  sorrow, 

And  when  shall  this  bliss  be,  this  heavenly  season — 
Tomorrow  ?     Tomorrow. 


The  Coffin  of  St.  Julien.  49 


THE  COFFIN  OF  ST.  JULIEN. 
Lines  in  a  bottle  cast  into  the  sea. 

Stranger,  in  this  narrow  cell 

Dwelled  a  soul  with  love  to  cheer  it ; 
Ah,  whose  was  it  ?  mark  it  well  ! 

'Twas  St.  Julien's  gentle  spirit. 


Sweet  and  sacred  was  this  saint ; 

Health  was  his — now  ours  we  term  it  ; 
His  own  glow  our  cheeks  doth  paint — 

Heirs  of  this  immortal  hermit. 


50  The  Coffin  of  St.  Juli en. 

Lone  and  old  he  did  much  good 
From  this  cell — O  Time  endear  it ! 

Now  we  feel  our  lives  imbued 
With  the  sparkle  of  his  spirit. 


Stranger,  hear  the  praise  we  sing 
In  sad  verse,  for  gods  confirm  it  ! 

Go — and  other  votaries  bring 
To  the  Coffin  of  the  Hermit ! 


The  Coronation.  51 


THE  CORONATION. 


Go,  Memory,  return,  you  know  the  way 
Along  the  many  paths  which  have  been  ours, 
Go  till  you  reach  the  gloomy  aisle  of  firs 
That  leads  up  to  that  little  country  church, 
And  lay  these  flowers  upon  the  grave  of  her — 
Pansies  they  are  which  she  had  loved  so  much. 
And  think,  O  messenger,  that  where  you  walk 
Once  in  the  old  time  Death  came  in  to  her  ! 
A  clear,  melodious  voice,  nor  far,  nor  near, 
Nor  full,  nor  faint,  nor  measurable  in  tone, 
Had  read  to  her  the  legends  on  the  stones 
And  died  away  above  the  golden  hills. 
And  there  before  a  cavern's  marble  door, 
Smiling  she  stood,  but  started  suddenly, 
For  straight  she  knew  upon  her  temples  hung 
The  tangled  poppies  and  sad  cypress  crown  : 
She  felt  them — drooped  her  head — and  entered  in, 
Leaving  the  green  day  and  the  sunlit  fields. 


At  the  Green  Fir  Tavern.  53 


AT  THE  GREEN  FIR  TAVERN. 


Down  through  the  windows  open  wide, 
To  fix  the  noonday  on  the  floor, 

The  fir-tree's  gloomy  fingers  glide — 

They  glide  and  pause  and  glide  once  more. 


There  sits  the  round-faced  drowsy  host ! 

Perhaps  some  song  is  in  his  pipe, 
Some  song  to  lull,  some  smoke-like  ghost 

Of  Bacchus  when  the  grape  is  ripe. 


54  At  the  Green  fir  Tavern. 

Without  a  gray  old  harper  stands, 

And  through  the  noiseless  golden  noon, 

The  strings  pour  forth  beneath  his  hands 
A  wailing,  sweet  Italian  tune. 


A  lonely  traveller  sits  and  dreams, 
And  dreams  have  filled  his  soul  anew ; 

The  mountain  wine,  the  music,  seems 
To  set  his  sad  heart  singing  too. 


For  Her  the  harper  strikes  the  strings  ; 

The  traveller's  dream,  this  song,  is  Hers  ; 
And  loud  of  Her  the  throstle  sings 

Within  the  twilight  of  the  firs. 


Little  Karin.  55 


LITTLE  KARIN. 
A  Swedish  folk-song. 

Once  served  the  little  Karin 
Within  the  young  king's  hall ; 

She  was  a  bright  star  beaming 
Among  the  maidens  small. 


Among  the  maidens  beaming, 

She  seemed  a  star  aglow  ; 
And  once  the  young  king  whispered 
To  little  Karin  so  : 


56  Little  Karin. 

"  And  hear  thou,  little  Karin, 
"  Say,  wilt  thou  now  be  mine  ? 
"  Gray  charger  and  gold  saddle — 
"  These  both  shall  straight  be  thine." 


"  Gray  charger  and  gold  saddle 
"  I  do  not  care  for — no, 
"  Give  them  to  thy  young  queen  and 
"  Let  me  with  honor  go  !  " 


"  And  hear  thou,  little  Karin, 
"  Say,  wilt  thou  now  be  mine? 
'*  My  reddest  crown  and  golden, 
"  That  also  shall  be  thine." 


"  Thy  reddest  crown  and  golden 
"  I  do  not  care  for — no, 
"  Give  that  to  thy  young  queen  and 
"  Let  me  with  honor  go  !  " 


Little  Karin.  57 


"  And  hear  thou,  little  Karin, 
"  Say,  wilt  thou  now  be  mine  ? 
"  The  half  of  all  my  kingdom, 
"  That  also  shall  be  thine." 


"  The  half  of  all  thy  kingdom 
"  I  do  not  care  for — no, 
"  Give  that  to  thy  young  queen  and 
"  Let  me  with  honor  go  !  " 


"  And  hear  thou,  little  Karin. 
"  If  thou  wilt  not  be  mine, 
"  Then  into  the  spiked  barrel 
"  Shall  go  that  form  of  thine  !  " 


"  If  into  the  spiked  barrel 
"  To  put  me  thou  art  bent, 
"  God's  angels  fair  shall  see  it 
"  That  I  am  innocent." 


58  Little  Karin. 

So  in  the  spiked  barrel 
They  little  Karin  bound, 

And  all  the  king's  retainers 

They  rolled  her  round  and  round. 


But  then  there  came  from  Heaven 
Two  white  doves  fair  to  see  ; 

They  took  up  little  Karin — 

And  straightway  there  were  three. 


And  up  from  Hell  came  flying 

Two  ravens  black  to  see ; 
They  took  the  young  king  with  them- 

And  straightway  there  were  three. 


The  Arrows.  59 


THE  ARROWS. 


I  am  sore  wounded  ; 
I  sat  in  the  woodland 

As  the  moon  rose  ; 
I  arose  when  the  moon  did, 
And  walked  in  the  woodland  ; 

How  sad  the  wind  blows  ! 


She  came  when  the  moon  did, 
The  sweet  rose,  the  fair  rose 

Love  deifies. 
Ah  !  I  am  sore  wounded, 
By  the  keen  arrows 

That  came  from  her  eyes. 


To  a  Songstress.  61 


TO  A  SONGSTRESS. 
For  L.  C. 

A  tone  melodious  and  low 

As  we  have  sometime  heard  in  dreams, 
With  mellow  modulated  flow 

Of  murmurs  under  streams, 
A  tone  blithe  birds  in  happy  valley, 

On  branches  swaying  to  and  fro, 

May  answer  clear  and  musically. 


That  tone  is  thine,  and  since  to  me 
It  seems  as  sweet  and  rare  a  note 

As  e'er  was  plained  by  bird,  or  bee 
That  singeth  in  a  lily's  throat, 

Then  let  these  lines  faint,  far  and  lowly, 
Speak  mutely  praises  unto  thee, 

As  echoes  of  their  echoes  wholly. 


62  To  a  Songstress. 

But  if  thy  voice  be  sweet  and  rare 
As  tunes  of  rill  and  bird  and  bee, 

Thyself  art  like  the  lily  fair 
Wherein  the  bee  sings  gleefully  ; 

And  well  do  they  who  feel  the  power 
Of  one  dear  song  of  thine  declare, 

"  Yea,  thou  art  like  unto  a  flower  !  " 


What  Dying  Is.  63 


WHAT  DYING  IS. 


To  leave  the  turmoil  and  the  careful  tumult, 

And  wander  vaguely  to  a  pleasant  region, 

Where  green  fields  glow  with  sheen  of  summer  sunset, 

And  narrow  farther  to  a  sylvan  vista, 

Whence  issue  sounds  to  soothe  the  spirit's  trouble ; 

To  hear  the  laugh  and  gurgle  of  low  waters, 

And  young  birds  sing  with  a  diviner  music, 

And  young  birds  carol  with  a  lovelier  music, 

And  evening  winds  that  walk  with  fainter  footfall 

Unto  the  white  clouds  and  the  bluer  sky-depths  ; 

To  rest  a  little  some  green  willow  under, 

Whose  branches  whisper  in  that  shadow-garden, 

And  hold  that  hand  which  hath  the  tenderest  pressure, 

And  touch  sweet  lips  just  as  thine  eyes  are  closing  : 

This  is  that  failing  ere  the  sunset's  fading, 

This  is  that  dying  ere  the  morn  immortal  ! 


64  What  Dying  Is. 

To  see  blue-hooded  violets  reposing 

Among  the  grasses  twining  to  caress  thee 

And  kiss  thy  cheek,  as  if  thou  wert  a  sister, 

And  warm  thee  with  their  breath  of  heavenly  odor, 

As  if  thou  wert  to  them  indeed  a  sister ; 

To  find  some  quiet  in  the  willow  vista, 

Some  little  slumber  in  that  shadow-garden  : 

This  is  that  evening  of  thy  dreamless  sleeping, 

This  is  that  slumber  ere  the  life  immortal ! 


A  gentle  waking  to  a  newer  beauty, 

A  gradual  unfolding  to  the  soul-life, 

As  though  a  rose's  chrysalid  transported 

Into  the  blooming  valley  of  that  Eden  ; 

A  slow  unfolding  of  an  early  blossom  ; 

A  little  kneeling  at  the  sapphire  portals, 

And  consciousness  of  all  surcease  of  heartache, 

Tumultuous  tremor  as  the  soul  receiveth 

The  grander  splendor  of  the  spheral  chorus, 

That  joy  which  "  passeth  human  understanding  "  : 

This  is  that  coming  of  another  morning, 

This  is  that  morning  of  the  life  immortal  ! 


To  Little  Rosalie.  65 


TO  LITTLE  ROSALIE. 


If  you  were  in  my  garden,  maiden, 

The  flowers  would  say  : 
"  This  truly  is  our  little  sister 

"  Of  yesterday, 
"  The  one  we  thought  the  angels  laid  in 

"  Her  dreams  away — 
"  How  sweeter,  dearer  since  we  missed  her  !  " 

The  flowers  would  say. 


They  would  your  tiny  form  so  treasure, 

You  could  not  go, 
Your  wee,  wee  feet  and  hanging  tresses 

Entangle  so, 
That  you  would  lie  amidst  their  pressure 

And  sheen  and  glow 
And  sweet  breath  and  old-time  caresses, 

And  could  not  go. 


66  To  Little  Rosalie. 

The  trees  would  look  down  glad  and  smiling 

Upon  you  too  ; 
The  rose-buds  would  burst  quick  asunder 

To  look  at  you, 
The  skies  find  such  blue  eyes  beguiling 

As  lovers  do, 
And  brown  bees  haunt  your  mouth  in  wonder, 

But  fear  of  you. 


A  Ballad  of  War-time.  67 


A  BALLAD  OF  WAR-TIME. 


At  night  upon  a  lonely  road 

A  traveller  hurries  fast, 
And  who  has  known  his  drear  abode 

Will  look  at  him  aghast  ! 


He  comes  from  distant  foreign  lands, 
And  something  strange  he  bears  ; 

He  holds  his  own  head  in  his  hands, 
And  wofully  it  stares. 


68  A  Ballad  of  War-time, 

A  soldier  is  he,  and  was  slain 

By  cruel  scimetar, 
And  long,  long  years  his  form  has  lain 

By  high-walled  Temesvar. 


Each  night  his  home  to  find  he  tries, 

Beside  the  Elbe  wave — 
In  vain  !  when  dawn  is  come  he  lies 

In  this  same  cursed  grave. 


Ah,  piteous  fate,  that  he  who  shed 
For  love  his  patriot  blood, 

Restless  and  longing,  even  dead, 
Must  lie  in  hated  sod  ! 


At  night  upon  a  lonely  road 

A  traveller  hurries  fast, 
And  who  has  known  his  drear  abode 

Will  look  at  him  aghast ! 


Why  does  it  Sigh  so  Heavy  in  the  Forest  ?  69 


WHY   DOES    IT   SIGH   SO    HEAVY    IN   THE 
FOREST  ? 

From  the  Swedish  of  B.  E.  Malmstrom. 

A  little  lad  is  sitting  a  bleak  autumnal  even 

In  quiet  playing  by  a  yellow  lind  ; 
He  sees  the  lighted  windows  above  him  in  the  Heaven, 

And  hears  the  leaves  in  prattle  on  the  wind ; 
But  while  he  sits  in  fancy  and  many  visions  sees, 
The  even  of  September  grows  darker  in  the  trees  ; 
Then  does  it  sigh  so  heavy  in  the  forest. 


yo  Why  does  it  Sigh  so  Heavy  in  the  Forest  ? 

The  little  lad  he  listened,  becoming  sad  in  mood, 
Then  rose  and  ran  along  the  path  in  haste  ; 

He  thought  dark  thoughts  of  evil  that  froze  his  very  blood, 
And  went  astray  upon  the  heather  waste  ; 

He  thought  then  of  his  father,  his  mother,  sisters  dear : 

"  God  help  me  who  am  little;  I  would  I  were  not  here  !  " 
Then  does  it  sigh  so  heavy  in  the  forest. 


The  moon  ascends  now  softly  from  out  the  cloudy  rift 
And  casts  its  silver  mantle  o'er  the  earth ; 

The  frightened  shadows  hurry  to  the  mountain  bases  swift, 
And  elfish  trolls  are  flitting  to  the  north ; 

The  mountain  summits  gleam,  but  the  wildwood  it  is  murk, 

And  owls  pour  forth  their  dirges  within  the  rainy  birk; 
Then  does  it  sigh  so  heavy  in  the  forest. 


The  little  lad  then  hastened  across  the  moorland  wide, 
And  thought  of  many  an  olden  fairy  lay, 

While  night  went  on  and  over  and  stars  of  Heaven  did 
glide, 

But  from  his  homeward  path  he  went  astray. 
"  Ye  gentle  stars  above  me,  that  move  so  loftily, 
"  Ye  withered  little  blossoms,  O  tell  it,  tell  it  me, 
"  Who  was  it  sighed  so  heavy  in  the  forest?  ' 


Why  does  it  Sigh  so  Heavy  in  the  Forest  ?  71 

But  all  the  stars  were  silent,  and  little  blossoms  still, 

And  many  tears  of  bitterness  he  shed  ; 
Then  came  he  to  an  elf-grot,  with  winged  swiftness,  till 

He  stood  amidst  their  airy  ring  and  said  : 
"  O  ye  that  move  in  dances  on  the  heather-growing  lea, 
"  Ye  beautiful  small  sisters,  O  tell  it,  tell  it  me, 

"  Who  was  it  sighed  so  heavy  in  the  forest  ?  " 


The  little  queen  of  elfins  now  in  her  smiling  way 

Caressed  the  lad  upon  his  rosy  cheek  : 
"  Weep  not,  thou  pretty  lost  one,  although  so  far  astray, 
"  Although  so  frightened  in  the  woodland  bleak, 
"  But  sit  here  on  the  greensward  of  the  heather-growing  lea, 
"  And  dry  thine  eyes  so  tearful  and  I  will  tell  to  thee 
"  Who  was  it  sighed  so  heavy  in  the  forest. 


"  When  night  descends  serenely  upon  the  land  and  deep, 
"  And  noisy  day  begins  to  vanish  slow, 
"  And  underneath  the  green  isle  the  billows  go  to  sleep, 
"  And  all  the  beauteous  stars  commence  to  glow — 

"  Then  mirror-clear  and  beaming  becomes  the  heavenly 
dome, 

"  And  hosts  of  kindly  angels  beneath  it  mutely  roam 
"  And  weep  their  silver  tears  upon  the  earth. 


72  Why  does  it  Sigh  so  Heavy  in  the  Forest  ? 

11  Then  sees  in  Heaven's  great  mirror,  poor  earth,  her  form 
of  sin, 

"  And  finds  herself  a  black  and  spurned  abode  ; 

"  She  reckons  up  her  sins  and  all  murders,  lies  within, 

"  Of  which  a  thousand  years  have  formed  her  load  ; 

"  And  through  her  vital  marrow  death's  shudders  tremble 
then, 

"  Confesses  every  mountain  and  prays  then  every  glen, 
"  Then  does  it  sigh  so  heavy  in  the  forest." 


"  Have  thanks,  thou  queen  of  elfins !    I  shall  forget  no 
more, 

"  Nor  shall  I  fear  my  homeward  way  to  go ; 
"  Lo !  there  the  moon  beams  brightly  upon  my  path  before. 
"  Farewell  !  we  shall  not  soon  forget,  I  know, 
"  Each  other,  and  though  lowly  and  very  poor  I  be, 
"  Yet  unto  God  I  promise  that  never  shall  for  me 
"  It  sigh  so  heavy  in  the  forest  !  " 


Necken.  73 


NECKEN. 
From  the  Swedish  of  E.  J.  Stagnelius. 

Golden  clouds  at  eve  are  glancing ; 
Elves  upon  the  heath  are  dancing, 
And  the  leave-crowned  Necken  ever 
Rings  his  harp  in  the  silver  river. 


Lo  !  a  lad  where  trees  are  sighing, 
In  the  violets'  vapor  lying, 
Hears  the  sound  the  waters  weave  in 
Night,  and  calls  through  quiet  even  : 


74  Necken. 

"  Poor  old  minstrel,  wherefore  chanting? 
"  Will  not  sorrows  cease  their  haunting  ? 
"  Though  thou  field  and  wood  enliven 
"  Still  by  God  thou  art  not  forgiven. 


"  Paradise's  moonlit  shadows, 

"  Eden's  flower-crowned  meadows, 

"  Angels  high,  whose  lights  enfold  them — 

"  Will  thine  eyes  no  more  behold  them  ?" 


Tears  the  old  man's  face  are  laving; 
Down  he  dives  in  the  waters  waving, 
While  his  harp  grows  still  and  never 
Sings  again  in  the  silver  river. 


The  Path.  75 


THE  PATH. 


I  leave  my  home  at  early  day, 

To  follow  silent  through  the  wood 

A  crooked,  rambling,  pleasant  way, 
With  flowers  and  birds  a  multitude. 


The  rivulet  glides  by  swift  and  still ; 

Loud  rondels  sings  the  happy  thrush  ; 
But  oft  I  leave  him  when  I  will, 

And  seek  the  deeper  woodland  hush. 


76  The  Path. 

Presently  it  is  afternoon  ; 

Then  from  the  mountain  steal  the  shades  ; 
The  sun  will  leave  the  valley  soon, 

And  in  the  mist  the  pathway  fades. 


But  ah  !  can  I  have  lost  my  way  ? 

There  is  no  mark  there  is  no  light ; 
The  path  may  baffle  and  betray  ; 

Where  does  it  lead  to  ?     It  is  night. 


The  Dream  of  the  Hyacinth.  77 


THE  DREAM  OF  THE  HYACINTH. 


"  Last  night  the  Dream -god  made  of  me 

"  A  mortal  maiden,  and  I  lay 

"  Pale  in  the  grass  beneath  a  tree 

"  Until  a  young  knight  came  that  way. 


' '  He  took  me  in  his  arms  and  said, 

"  He  loved  me,  I  should  be  his  bride  ; 

"  He  kissed  my  lips  till  they  were  red 

"  And  called  me  sweet-breathed,  purple-eyed." 


78  The  Dream  of  the  Hyacinth. 

So  dreams  the  flower  ;  its  dream  is  deep  ; 

It  cannot  tell  me,  but  I  know  ; 
How  long  will  these  magicians  keep 
The  maid  in  this  unholy  sleep 

Before  again  they  let  her  go  ? 


An  Extravaganza.  79 


I 

AN  EXTRAVAGANZA. 

After  a  Nocturne  of  Chopin. 

Have  I  a  lover 

Who  is  noble  and  free  ? — 
/  would  he  were  nobler 

Than  to  love  me. 

— EMERSON. 


Thou  art  so  near  me,  I  do  hold  thee, 

I  clasp  this  clay  which  thou  dost  seem  of ; 

Thou  art  so  distant — I  enfold  thee, 
But  thou  art  far  from  that  I  dream  of. 


Below,  the  river  hurries  madly — 

Thou  art  so  near  me,  I  do  hold  thee — 

The  river — ah,  I  ponder  sadly 

How  I  but  clasp  thee,  kiss,  enfold  thee  ! 


8o  An  Extravaganza. 

Come,  love,  come  to  me  and  discover 
How  I  but  clasp,  enfold  and  kiss  thee ; 

Thou  art  so  noble,  but  thy  lover, 

He  must  not  love  thee,  can  not  miss  thee. 


Deep  down  in  this  forgetful  river, 

Come,  love,  come  with  me,  I  do  hold  thee — 
One  moment's  pain — my  soul  forever 

Shall  clasp  thee,  kiss  thee  and  enfold  thee. 


A  Drinking  Song.  8 1 


A  DRINKING  SONG. 
From  the  Swedish  of  Bellman. 

Drink  out  thy  glass  !  see,  Death  is  waiting  for  thee, 
Whetting  his  sword  upon  thy  threshold  here  ! 

Be  not  afraid  !  he  but  the  grave  before  thee 
Opens,  then  closes  haply  yet  for  a  year. 

Movitz,  consumption  hangs  threatening  o'er  thee  ! 
Strike  now  the  octave  ! 

Tune  up  thy  strings  and  sing  of  spring  and  good  cheer  ! 


Yellow  complexion,  thin  cheeks  faintly  blooming, 
Breast  sunken  in  and  flattened  shoulderblade — 

Let's  see  your  hand  !  each  vein,  so  blue  and  fuming, 
Seems  as  if  swelled  and  in  moist  vapor  clad — 

Damp  are  thy  hands  and  their  veins  stiff  as  clay  now  ! 
Strike  up  and  play  now  ! 

Empty  thy  bottle,  sing  and  drink  and  be  glad  ! 


Winter.  83 


WINTER. 


Now  round  the  rivulet's  castle  walls 
Resound  no  more  the  summer's  praises, 

But  scarce  heard  through  its  frozen  halls 
A  melody  runs  in  secret  places  : 


For  though  the  wood  lies  deep  with  snow 
Which  veils  from  us  the  mosses'  slumbers, 

The  stream  with  soft,  unceasing  flow 
Goes  gliding  down  in  golden  numbers. 


84  Winter. 

What  language  speaks  the  beauteous  stream, 
With  murmurs  under  its  green  apsis, 

Unconscious  voicings  of  its  dream, 
And  music  of  its  gentle  lapses  ? 


Is  this  but  gravity  which  sings  ? 

Or  blithe  joy  in  a  sense  of  being, 
Or  knowledge  of  more  wondrous  things, 

And  miracles  beyond  our  seeing  ? 


Snow.  85 


SNOW. 


Some  snowflakes  fallen  from  afar, 
Pale,  cold,  of  shining  purity, 

Seem  like  unto  a  beauteous  star, 
But  they  are  much  more  like  to  the« 

I  cannot  write  how  like  they  are. 


The  sun  may  look  out  any  day, 
And  they  will  seek  again  the  skies, 

But  not  till  melted  quite  away 

To  drops  which  sparkle  like  thine  eyes — 

Ah,  me,  if  thou  wouldst  melt  as  they ! 


86  Snow. 

Because  so  beautiful  and  far, 
So  pale  and  cold  in  purity, 

I  deem  them  like  a  lovely  star, 

But  they  are  much  more  like  to  thee- 

Ah,  Heaven,  how  very  like  they  are  ! 


The  Sicilian  Triad.  87 


THE  SICILIAN  TRIAD. 


Where  are  they  gone, 
Ah,  whither  fled, 

The  songs  at  dawn  ? 

Where  are  they  gone  ? 

We  muse  upon 

Their  singers  dead. 

Where  are  they  gone, 
Ah,  whither  fled  ? 


Sweet  sounds  they  drew 
From  heath  and  hill, 
Where  soft  winds  blew — 
Sweet  sounds  they  drew, 
Grown  faint  and  few 
And  almost  still  ; 
Sweet  sounds  they  drew 
From  heath  and  hill. 


88  The  Sicilian  Triad. 

Ah,  now  no  more 

Such  songs  are  sung  ! 
The  years  of  yore 
Come  now  no  more, 
With  their  sweet  lore 
In  sweeter  tongue. 
Ah,  now  no  more 
Such  songs  are  sung  ! 


Hide  and  Seek.  89 


HIDE  AND  SEEK. 


Though  loitering  far,  I  hear  the  shout 
Of  happy  children  in  their  play ; 

Some  hide  and  others  seek  them  out — 
How  sweet  it  were  to  be  as  they  ! 


Ah  !  merrily  their  voices  come 

Across  the  churchyard  green  to  me  ; 

God  well  may  bless  the  distant  hum 
Of  rosy  children  in  their  glee  ! 


90  Hide  and  Seek. 

Play,  little  ones,  and  run  and  shout 

Among  the  purple  heather  blooms  ! 
If  some  day  cares  should  be  about, 
Or  old,  wan  Sorrow  seek  you  out — 
Then  run  and  hide  among  the  tombs  ! 


Remorse.  9  r 


REMORSE. 


I  saw  you  once  and  in  that  hour 
I  wrote  a  song  to  last  a  day, 

Which  said  your  body  seemed  a  flower, 
Your  soul  its  fragrance  seemed  alway. 


You  thought  me  bold  ;  and  now  I  sigh 
Because  the  sorry  rhyme  I  rue  ; 

Alas  !  a  thoughtless  wretch  was  I 
Who  dared  compare  a  flower  to  you  .' 


The  Catacombs.  93 


THE  CATACOMBS. 


Remember  ?     How  one  word  can  stir 

These  desolate  recesses, 
As  if  a  magic  word  it  were 

Which  curses  or  which  blesses  ! 


The  labyrinth  is  damp  and  dark  ; 

Here  woe,  grief,  sin  are  buried  ; 
Ah,  read  the  lines  the  torches  mark, 

By  which  the  walls  are  serried  ! 


94  The  Catacombs. 

Up,  up  into  glad  day  again  ! 

New  hopes  the  sunlight  forges, 
While  here  in  darkness,  death  and  pain 

Pale  Memory  holds  her  orgies  ! 


The  Bluebells'  Chorus.  95 


THE  BLUEBELLS'  CHORUS. 
Chanson  fantastique. 

Our  carillon  will  carol  on 

In  mellow  melody 
To  invisible  dead  Isabelle 

Who  is  a  bell  to  be, 
When  the  grass  grows  green  upon  her  grave 

And  swallows  follow  free, 
To  cling  and  swing  and  sing  again 

Upon  their  trysting  tree. 

Our  carillon  will  carol  on 

In  firmer  murmur  then, 
When  the  grass  is  green  as  beryl  on 

The  new  grave  in  the  glen, 
When  invisible  dead  Isabelle 

Is  made  a  flower  again, 
To  chime  and  rhyme  all  time  with  us 

And  know  no  more  of  men. 


A  Rainy  Night.  97 


A  RAINY  NIGHT. 


The  night  is  dark  and  long  winds  moan ; 

Without  the  firelight  casts  no  glow ; 
The  rain  repeats  its  undertone 

Unceasingly  of  woe. 


Strange  !  but  it  seemed  a  face  looked  in, 
So  piteously  and  yet  so  mild  ; 

Some  mother  dead  it  must  have  been, 
Who  seeks  her  sorrowing  child. 


98  A  Rainy  Night. 

"  Come  to  me,  grieve  no  more,  ah,  stay 
11  May  I  not  be  beloved  too  ? 
"  I  will  throw  off  these  robes  of  clay 
"  To  roam  the  earth  with  you." 


Then  all  the  window  seemed  aflame 
From  features  heavenly,  womanly, 
"  Mother  of  God,  I  know  thy  name — 
"  Turn  not  thv  face  from  me  !  " 


It  is  a  dream — the  long  winds  moan  ; 

Without  the  firelight  casts  no  glow  ; 
The  rain  repeats  its  undertone 

Unceasingly  of  woe. 


In  Prison.  99 


IN  PRISON. 


Dear  maid  !  put  your  head  to  my  breast,  you  will  hear 
The  prisoner  drearily  pacing  his  cell — 

What's  this  !  does  he  stumble  or  dream  you  are  near, 
And  dreaming  you  near  does  he  stumble  as  well  ? 


For  twenty  long  years  in  the  gloom  I  have  heard 
The  prisoner's  footsteps — for  twenty  or  more — 

Life-sentence  it  is — and  he  never  has  stirred 

From  his  steady,  strong  tramp  till  this  hour  before  ! 


ioo  In  Prison. 

Dear  maid !  put  your  head  to  my  breast,  you  will  hear 
The  prisoner  knock  in  the  gloom  of  his  cell — 

How  he  strikes  on  the  walls,  in  his  frenzy  and  fear, 
Lest  you  go  and  not  hear  what  he  wishes  to  tell  ! 


Roses  on  the  Grave.  101 


ROSES  ON  THE  GRAVE. 
From  the  Swedish  of  W.  von  Braun. 

Down  among  the  marbles  of  the  churchyard 
Thekla  went  one  even  with  fresh  roses 
To  be  laid  upon  her  brother's  headstone 
As  an  offering  of  silent  sorrow. 
When  she  slowly  came  unto  the  green  mound 
Where  the  dear  departed  lay  low-hidden, 
Fell  she  on  her  knees  in  sad  devotion, 
While  her  prayers  flew  upward  unto  Heaven 
And  her  tears  fell  downward  on  the  velvet. 
Then  descended  Consolation,  mild-eyed  angel, 
To  the  sisterly  and  faithful  bosom. — 
Suddenly  disturbed  by  heavy  sighing 


io2  Roses  on  the  Grave. 

Near  she  saw  a  low,  smooth  grave  made  newly, 
And  upon  that  grave  a  pallid  maiden, 
Bowed  and  withered  like  a  frozen  lily. 
Souls  by  grief  and  sadness  overburdened 
Find  in  others  sweet,  enduring  friendship, 
And  her  own  affliction  now  forgetting, 
Thekla  falteringly  approached  the  mourner, 
Threw  her  arms  around  her  softly  saying : 

"  Poor,  poor  sister,  tell  me  whom  thou  grievst  for  !  " 
The  maid  was  mute  but  to  her  heart  she  pointed. 

"  Poor,  poor  sister,  why  art  thou  so  tearless?  " 
The  maid  was  mute  but  to  her  brow  she  pointed. 

"  On  the  grave  thou  hast  not  any  roses  ; 

"  Wilt  thou  not  have  half  of  these  my  flowers?  " 
Sadly  smiling  to  her  cheeks  she  pointed, 
To  those  cheeks  so  whitely  wan  and  wasted, 
And  she  spoke  then  in  a  broken  whisper  : 

"  Have  I  not  upon  the  grave  laid  roses? " 
Then  fell  Thekla  on  the  poor  one's  bosom, 
And  she  wept  but  questioned  not  thereafter. 


Neckrosen.  103 


NECKROSEN. 
From  the  Swedish  of  C.   W.  Bdttiger. 

A  lad  leaping  down  to  the  ocean  strand, 
There  after  a  lily  extended  his  hand  ; 
But  God  will  add  unto  his  angels  ! 


Meanwhile  as  he  stood  from  the  breakers  there 
A  mermaid  arose  green-mantled  and  fair. 
But  God  will  add  unto  his  angels  ! 


104  Neckrosen. 

"  O  bring  me  the  lily  which  near  to  thee  stands ; 
"  I  cannot  quite  reach  it,  so  little  my  hands  !  " 
But  God  will  add  unto  his  angels  ! 


The  maid  plucked  the  lily  for  him  as  he  smiled, 
But  lured  him  into  the  waters  wild, 
For  God  would  add  unto  his  angels  ! 


A  Wish.  105 


A  WISH. 


I  fain  would  be  a  troubadour 
(If  one  poor  wish  be  not  a  sin) 

With  voice  to  charm  and  song  to  lure, 
And  some  melodious  mandolin. 


Then  I  would  sing  a  song  so  sweet, 

So  strange  and  low  and  strong  and  brave, 

That  it  should  pierce  beneath  my  feet 
And  thrill  you  in  your  quiet  grave  ! 


I  Will  Slumber.  107 


I  WILL  SLUMBER. 
From  the  Swedish  of  W.  von  Braun. 

"  Darling,  in  the  gentle  arms  of  slumber 
"  Seek  that  once  thy  heart's  pain  be  forgotten," 
Said  a  hapless  mother  to  her  daughter 
Who  the  late  departed  bridegroom  mourned  for. 
"  Only  one  good  friend  on  earth  has  sorrow — 
"  That  is  night  with  her  sweet  peace  and  quiet. 
"  Ah  !  it  is  the  hours  so  long  and  wakeful 
"  That  have  paled  thy  cheeks  and  dimmed  thy  glances, 
"  And  my  fresh  new  rose  like  tempests  ravaged. 
"  Sleep,  my  poor  one  !  Dream's  befriending  angel 
"  Will  give  back  whom  late  thou  wert  forlorn  of, 
"  Whom  thou  now  dost  weep,  consumed  of  sorrow. 


io8  I  Will  Slumber. 

"  Thou,  who  hast  been  naught  but  sweet,  O  hear  me  ! 

"  Seek  the  rest  which  thou  so  much  hast  need  of." 
Then  the  daughter  breathed,  "  Yes,  I  will  slumber, 

"  Seek  the  rest  which  I  so  much  have  need  of. 

"  Long  the  night  will  be.     O  mother,  bless  me  ! 

"  Kiss  me  yet  again,  for  I — will — slumber  !  " 
From  her  mother's  breast  upon  the  swansdown 
Blest  she  drooped  low,  low  adown  and  smiling, 
Clasped  her  soft,  white,  tender  hands  together, 
Pressing  them  against  her  heart  with  rapture  ; 
Then  her  eyes  even  as  she  sighed  closed  slowly, 
And  the  mother  by  vain  hope  deluded 
Stole  out  gently  from  the  slumberer  pallid, 
That  she  might  a  heartfelt  orison  offer 
Unto  Heaven  for  her  sick  daughter's  slumber. 
Yes,  she  slumbered. 

Soon  a  pitying  angel 

Gave  her  back  whom  late  she  was  forlorn  of, 
But  it  was  not  Dream's — 'twas  Death's — dear  angel. 


The  Wonderful  Hat p  109 


THE  WONDERFUL  HARP. 

A  Swedish  folk-song. 

There  lived  a  baron  beside  the  sea, 

Young  is  my  life .' 
And  two  young  daughters  fine  had  he. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  / 


The  elder  was  dark  as  the  earth  is  dun  ; 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
The  younger  was  white  as  the  shining  sun. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


no  The  Wonderful  Harp. 

And  sister  whispered  to  sister  so : 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  Come,  let  us  down  to  the  seashore  go  !  " 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  .' 


"  Though  you  wash  yourself  both  day  and  night, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  You  will  never  like  me  be  clear  and  white." 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


And  now  as  they  stood  on  the  shore  far  from  home, 

Young  is  my  life  .' 
Pushed  the  elder  her  sister  down  into  the  foam. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


"  O  dearest,  my  sister,  help,  help  me  to  land, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  And  to  thee  will  I  give  my  red  gold-band  !  ' 

My  heatt  it  is  heavy  ! 


The  Wonderful  Harp.  1 1 1 

"  Be  sure  I  shall  have  thy  gold -band  red, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  But  God's  green  earth  shall  thou  never  more  tread  !  " 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


"  O  dearest,  my  sister,  help,  help  me  to  land, 

Yming  is  my  life  ! 
"  And  to  thee  will  I  give  my  gold-crown  grand  !  " 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


"  Be  sure  I  shall  have  thy  gold-crown  red, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  But  God's  green  earth  shalt  thou  nevermore  tread  !  " 

My  heart  it  is  h  eavy  ! 


"  O  dearest,  my  sister,  help,  help  me  to  land, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  And  to  thee  will  I  give  my  bridegroom's  hand  '  " 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


H2  The  Wonderful  Harp. 

"  Be  sure  I  shall  soon  with  thy  bridegroom  wed, 

Young  is  my  life  / 
"  But  God's  green  earth  shalt  thou  nevermore  tread  !  " 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


' '  Greet  then  my  father  at  home  from  me  ; 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  I  drink  to  my  bridal  deep  in  the  sea." 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


' '  And  greet  at  home  my  mother  so  good  ; 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
"  I  drink  to  my  bridal  deep  in  the  flood." 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


"  Unto  my  bridegroom  greetings  take  ; 

Young  is  my  life  .' 
"  In  the  sand  my  bridal  bed  I  must  make." 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


The  Wonderful  Harp.  113 

There  dwelt  an  old  harper  down  by  the  shore; 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
He  saw  how  the  billows  a  fair  form  bore. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


He  seized  the  maid  where  the  breakers  were, 

Young  is  my  life .' 
And  fashioned  a  beautiful  harp  of  her. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


He  took  the  snow-white  breast  of  the  maid, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
That  her  voice  should  sound  from  the  harp  he  made. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


He  took  the  maiden's  fingers  small, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
Made  ivory  pins  in  the  harp  of  all. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


ii4  The  Wonderful  Harp. 

He  took  the  maiden's  golden  hair, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
And  wrought  of  it  harp-strings  strange  and  rare. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


Then  he  bore  the  harp  to  the  bridal  hall, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
Where  desire  and  joy  and  pomp  ruled  all. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


When  he  struck  the  harp  into  melody  wild, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
The  new  bride  sat  in  her  chair  and  smiled. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


At  the  second  stroke  which  the  strings  ran  through, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
The  bridal  robes  from  the  bride  they  drew. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  .' 


The  Wonderful  Harp.  115 

At  the  third  peal  which  from  the  strange  harp  sped, 

Young  is  my  life  ! 
Dead  lay  the  bride  in  her  bridal  bed. 

My  heart  it  is  heavy  ! 


On  The  Moldau. 


ON  THE  MOLDAU. 


The  sun  lies  red  upon  the  river, 
The  last  glad  sun  that  we  shall  see, 

For  night  comes  soon  to  part  forever, 
To  part  forever  you  and  me. 


We  have  known  joy,  we  have  known  sorrow, 
We  have  known  ah  !  too  much  of  pain, 

But  more  and  more  and  more  tomorrow 
Shall  come  the  shadows  back  again. 


n8  On  the  Moldau. 

The  sun  lies  red  above  the  river, 
The  last  glad  sun  that  we  shall  see, 

For  night  comes  soon  to  part  forever, 
To  part  forever  you  and  me. 


To  Lili.  119 


TO  LILI. 


Deep  in  a  lonely  valley  hangs 

A  flower  so  sweet,  a  flower  so  pale, 

O  it  were  balm  for  many  pangs, 
Could  loveliness  alone  avail ! 


Its  perfumes  glide  forth  on  the  air 

And  hold  me  in  a  reverie ; 
In  sooth,  dear  maid,  the  flower  seems  there 

Not  thee — but  Earth's  late  dream  of  thee  ! 


The  Little  Collier-Boy.  12  r 


THE  LITTLE  COLLIER-BOY. 
From  the  Swedish  of  E.  G.  Geijer. 

"  By  the  kiln  in  the  wood  father  sits  ; 

"  Mother  at  home  sits  spinning. 

"  Wait,  I  also  shall  soon  be  a  man 

"  And  have  a  sweetheart  for  the  winning. 

"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


''  Early  I  started  from  home  with  the  sun- 
"  Quicker  be,  while  it  does  glimmer  ! 
"  Unto  my  father  I  bring  food  and  drink. 
"  Soon  will  the  twilight  be  dimmer. 
"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


122  The  Little  Collier- Boy. 

"  I  do  not  fear  on  the  little  green  path, 

"  Though  I  alone  in  the  forest  must  wander, 

"  But  fir-trees  are  looking  so  darkly  at  me, 

"  And  mountains  are  casting  such  long  shadows  yonder. 

"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


"  Tra  la  la  !  quick  as  a  bird  in  its  flight, 

"  Now  shall  I  hurry  while  humming — 

"  Oh  !   from  the  mountains  it  answers  so  fierce, 

"  So  heavy  the  words  that  are  coming. 

"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


"  O  were  I  only  with  father  down  there  ! 
"  A  bear  I  hear  growling  and  tearing, 
"  And  the  bear  he  is  the  strongest  of  men, 
"  Neither  the  young  nor  the  old  ones  sparing  ! 
"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


"  The  shadow  is  falling  so  thick,  so  thick, 

"  On  the  lonely  road  like  a  cover; 

"  It  creeps  and  it  rustles  on  stone  and  on  stick, 

"  And  trolls  in  the  heather  run  over ! 

"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


The  Little  Collier-Boy.  123 

"  O  God  !  there  is  one — there  are  two — in  their  net 
"  They  will  take  me — ah,  see  them,  how  merry  ! 
"  They  beckon  !  God  pity  me,  poor  little  child — 
"  Now,  now  for  my  life  I  must  hurry  ! 
"  It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


And  night  it  descended,  the  hour  grew  late, 

And  wilder  and  wilder  the  shadow ; 

It  crept  and  it  rustled  on  stone  and  on  stick  ; 

The  little  one  ran  to  the  meadow. 

It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


With  beating  heart  and  with  rose-blossom  cheek, 

By  the  kiln  near  his  father  he  fell, 
"  Be  welcome,  be  welcome,  thou  dear  son  of  mine  !  "- 
"  O  I've  seen  the  trolls  and  much  more  as  well !  " 

It  is  so  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest. 


"  My  son,  I  have  sat  here  so  many  years, 

"  And  ever  God  guarded  from  evil; 

"  Whoever  rightly  the  "  Lord's  Prayer"  doth  read 

"  Fears  neither  troll  nor  the  devil, 

"  Though  it  is  dark  far,  far  in  the  forest." 


The  Laplander's  Song.  125 


THE  LAPLANDER'S  SONG. 
from  the  Swedish  of  F.  M.  Franzen. 

Fly,  my  gentle  deer, 

Plain  and  mountain  o'er  ! 

Soon  my  maiden's  door 
Thou  mayst  paw  anear  ; 

Rich  the  mosses  grow 

In  the  drifting  snow. 


Short  indeed  the  day ; 

The  road  is  very  long. 

Hasten  with  my  song  ! 
Let  us  fly  away  ! 

Here  there  is  no  rest ; 

Here  but  wolves  infest. 


126  The  Laplander' s  Song. 

Lo,  an  eagle  passed  ! 

Blest  with  wings  is  he. 

Watch  yon  cloudlet  flee  ! 
Were  I  on  it  cast, 

I  might  see  the  while 

Thee  afar  to  smile. 


Thou  my  heart  dost  bear, 

Captured  hastily, 

As  a  deer  may  be 
By  a  kindly  snare, 

O  thou  lurest  me 

More  than  whirling  sea  ! 


When  I  thee  have  seen, 

A  thousand  thoughts  delight 
Me  both  day  and  night — 

Thousands  though  I  ween 
They  are  one  alone — 
To  take  thee  for  mine  own. 


The  Laplander 's  Song.  127 

Thou  mayst  hide  thee  near 

Behind  the  valley  stone, 

Or  to  the  woods  alone 
Fly  with  thy  reindeer — 

Away,  away  shall  be 

Every  stone  and  tree  ! 


Fly,  my  gentle  deer, 
Plain  and  mountain  o'er 
Soon  my  maiden's  door 

Thou  mayst  paw  anear ; 
Rich  the  mosses  grow 
In  the  drifting  snow. 


The  Crusader.  129 


THE  CRUSADER. 


His  loved  ones  from  the  turret  see 

The  knight  with  lance  and  shining  mail 

Who  rides  away  across  the  lea — 

O  Heaven  forbid  that  he  should  fail ! 


Long  years  he  fought  in  Holy  Wars 
In  the  far  lands  of  Palestine, 

And  now  he  comes  back  with  his  scars, 
To  make  his  glories,  dear  ones,  thine. 


130  The  Crusader, 

Victorious  from  the  Holy  Lands, 
He  seeks  again  his  native  shores  ; 

Red  in  the  sun  his  castle  stands — 

But  weeds  have  grown  before  his  doors  ! 


Ashes  to  Ashes.  131 


ASHES  TO  ASHES. 


Thou  tender  blossom,  more  than  human, 
Because  so  fair  and  pure  and  humble, 

O  lovely  flower,  how  could  I  doom  one 
So  dear  to  droop  defiled — to  crumble 
Like  man  and  woman  ! 


And  so,  my  flower,  my  love,  I  swore  it, 
That  one  thing,  one,  should  not  so  perish, 

That  mocking  Fate  should  laugh  not  o'er  it, 
Not  alway  mar  what  most  I  cherish, 
While  I  deplore  it. 


132  Ashes  to  Ashes. 

Now  on  the  white  hot  coals  I  place  thee, 
Among  the  ferns  of  some  gone  aeon  ; 

In  shining  vesture  they  do  grace  thee, 
And  perfumes  as  from  isles 
Do  soft  embrace  thee. 


No  taint,  no  blemish,  naught  but  ashes — 
Of  such  fine  death  thy  frame  is  worthy  : 

The  ermine  couch  with  damask  flashes, 
Quick  change  of  heavenly  back  to  earthy, 
No  soul  abashes. 


O  bud  half-open,  thy  sweet  splendor 

Is  risen  from  the  fiery  portal, 
And  atoms,  which  through  stem  so  slender 

Had  crept  into  a  bloom  immortal, 
Their  work  surrender. 


Cradle  Song  for  my  Heart.  133 


CRADLE  SONG  FOR  MY  HEART. 
From  the  Swedish  of  Runeberg. 

Sleep,  disquieted  heart,  O  sleep  ! 
Worldly  sorrow  and  joy  forget  ! 
Let  not  hope  destroy  thy  slumber, 
Nor  a  dream  thy  oblivion. 


Wheiefore  dost  thou  at  day  look  still  ? 
Tell  me,  what  dost  desire  from  it  ? 
Haply  for  thy  deeper  heart-wounds 
Some  fair  balm-bringing  flower  ? 


134  Cradle  Song  for  my  Heart. 

Mournful  heart,  now  thine  eyelids  close  ; 
Daylight's  roses  thou'st  proved  enough  ; 
Only  slumber's  shadow-garden 
Hath  the  herb  that  will  heal  thee. 


Sleep  as  lilies  that  sleep  alway 
Lightly  broken  by  autumn  winds ; 
Sleep  as  hind  that  bleeding  sleepeth 
With  the  burden  of  arrows. 


Wherefore  pinest  for  days  gone  by  ? 
Why  remember  that  blest  thou  wert  ? 
Sometime  must  the  spring-time  vanish, 
Sometime  joy,  O  heart,  also  ! 


Even  thou  hast  thy  May-day  seen  ; 
What  if  lasting  it  could  not  be  ! 
Seek  not  for  its  tender  sunshine 
Now  in  glooms  of  the  winter. 


Cradle  Song  for  my  Heart.  135 

Dost  remember  the  hour's  bliss  still  ? 
Greened  the  forest  and  trilled  the  bird, 
And  the  hill  with  balmy  odor 
Was  the  fane  of  affection. 


Dost  remember  embraces  there, 
And  the  heart  that  had  sought  for  thee  ? 
Dost  remember  still  the  kissed  lips 
And  their  dreamy  avowals  ? 


Then  wheii  eyes  into  eyes  did  look, 
Feeling  mirrored  in  feeling  lay, 
Then,  my  heart,  'twas  time  to  waken, 
Now  to  slumber  forgetful. 


Sleep,  disquieted  heart,  O  sleep  ! 
Worldly  sorrow  and  joy  forget ! 
Let  not  hope  destroy  thy  slumber, 
Nor  a  dream  thy  oblivion. 


Happiness.  137 


HAPPINESS. 


She  smiles  and  sings  the  livelong  day — 

A  very  happy  maiden  she, 
Whose  blessed  fancies  charm  away 

Her  sorrows  and  her  misery  ! 


How  sad  and  strange  the  people  here  ! 

They  sigh  and  shriek  and  whisper  things 
To  shun,  to  loathe,  to  dread,  to  fear — 

But  all  the  day  she  smiles  and  sings. 


138  Happiness. 

'Tis  sweet  to  know  that  there  can  be 
Someone  whose  woe  has  taken  wings — 

A  very  happy  creature  she 

Who  all  the  day  long  smiles  and  sings  ! 


Her  Soul  and  Body.  \  39 


HER  SOUL  AND  BODY. 


The  wine  was  in  the  golden  beaker ; 

Its  red  foam  frothed  and  bubbled  up  ; 
For  some  fine  spirit  I  was  seeker  ; 

I  found  one  in  that  shining  cup. 


I  longed  to  breathe  the  sweets  it  scattered, 
To  breathe,  to  taste,  did  Fate  permit, 

But  from  my  lips  the  cup  fell  shattered  ; 
Then  fell  and  broke  my  heart  with  it. 


To  Elin.  141 


TO  ELIN. 


The  phantoms  in  my  dreams  resemble 

The  soul  of  thee ; 
They  tremble  as  thy  soul  did  tremble 

From  love  of  me ; 
I  fain  would  clasp  them  in  their  tremor 

As  I  clasped  thee, 
But  frightened  fly  they  from  the  dreamer, 

Like  sounds  made  free  ; 
Like  those  sweet  sounds  the  winds  are  shaking 

From  flower  and  tree, 
Which  sigh  and  murmur  in  awaking 

Melodiously. 


142  To  Elin. 

Ah,  thou  dear  God,  if  thou  hast  power, 

If  God  thou  be, 
Restore,  restore  one  gentle  hour 

With  her  to  me  ! 


The  Brook.  143 


THE  BROOK. 


All  day  the  noisy  brooklet  goes 
Among  the  green  hills  restlessly, 

But  soon  with  gentle  silence  flows 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 


Live,  restless  heart,  and  throb  and  think 
All  day  among  the  hills  with  me, 

But  when  the  night  is  come,  then  sink 
Into  oblivion  silently. 


The  Lost  Drtams.  145 


THE  LOST  DREAMS. 


We  came  unto  an  open  door  ; 
Pale  Dreams  with  torches  went  before ; 
We  entered  into  the  sunless  cave — 
It  was  the  cavern  of  the  grave  ! 


0  it  was  desolate  and  cold 

And  wrapped  in  silence  manifold  ! 
The  Dreams  went  far  off  from  my  side  ; 

1  had  such  fear  I  could  have  died. 


146  The  Lost  Dreams. 

Then  suddenly  the  torches'  light 
Flickered  and  faded  from  my  sight ; 
I  rushed  back  through  the  open  door — 
The  Dreams  were  lost  and  came  no  more  ! 


Norrland.  147 


NORRLAND. 
From  the  Swedish  of  A.  A.  Grafstrdm. 

HE. 

I  know  a  land  where  silent  even  beaming 
Attires  the  heaven  dark  in  northern  sheen, 

Where  under  cloudy  helms  the  cliffs  grey  gleaming 
Guard  with  ice-cuirasses  the  low  ravine, 

Where  many  a  rill  from  mountains  wildly  streaming 
Its  thunder  rolls  beyond  the  distant  scene, 

Where  harps  of  mermen  in  the  waves  are  tinkling, 

And  moon  its  kisses  on  the  wet  harps  sprinkling. 


148  Norrland. 

SHE. 

I  know  a  night  as  bright  as  day  and  tender  ; 

For  flowers  slumbering  the  sun  shines  yet ; 
And  smiling  in  their  youthfulness  and  splendor, 

The  Morn  and  Even  are  in  heaven  met ; 
While  waking  birds  their  notes  so  mournful  render, 

And  all  is  fragrant  as  a  violet ; 
There  elfins  light  in  swaying  circles  hover, 

Their  silver  wings  the  meadow  gleaming  over. 


HE. 

I  know  where  forest  olden,  and  the  land  is, 
Where  we  went  under  the  resounding  shore ; 

I  know  the  sea  and  where  the  dim  green  strand  is, 
Which  round  blue  ocean  its  high  rampart  bore  ; 

A  fir-tree  nodding  there  upon  the  sand  is, 
Whose  bowing  head  is  hung  the  billows  o'er; 

There  lay  our  father's  house ;  the  bay  was  by  it, 

And  in  this  nook  the  world  seemed  free  and  quiet. 


SHE. 

1  know  where  are  the  valley  and  the  island, 
In  flowers  and  in  song-birds  rich  of  yore  ; 


Norrland.  149 

O  stands  the  olden  alder  on  the  highland, 

And  is  our  cot  still  as  the  cot  before, 
When  in  the  room  I  often  stood  the  while,  and 

Saw  golden  sink  the  sun  behind  the  shore? 
Come,  reach  to  me  thy  true,  good  hand,  my  brother, 
Return  we  to  that  land  fair  as  no  other  ! 


In  the  Harz.  i  ? 


IN  THE  HARZ. 


Across  the  mountain  and  the  valley 
The  goat-bells  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle  ; 

The  warm  winds  whisper,  sing  and  dally 
In  heather  bloom  and  periwinkle  ; 


The  fir-trees  change  their  gloom  for  smiling  ; 

The  long  sounds  from  the  distant  churches 
Float  up  enchanting  and  beguiling, 

And  lose  themselves  among  the  birches  ; 


152  In  the  Harz. 

The  red-roofed  hamlets  seem  like  roses 
Which  drowsily  the  eyes  may  number, 

And  far  and  wide  the  blue  sky  closes 

O'er  those  who  dream  and  those  who  slumber. 


The  Pythoness.  153 


THE  PYTHONESS. 


Has  none  thy  grace  and  beauty  sung  ? 

Has  no  man  given  thee  caresses  ? 
Has  no  one  wish  to  dwell  among 

Thy  far-off  wildernesses  ? 


Yet  thou  art  delicate  and  fair, 

Thou  art  so  graceful  and  so  slender ; 

Canst  thou  not  charm  into  thy  lair, 
Or  trust  and  love  engender  ? 


154  The  Pythoness. 

How  bright  and  strange  and  strong  thine  eyes, 
Deceiving,  luring  and  disarming  ! 

'Tis  good  that  most  of  us  are  wise 
Beyond  thy  might  of  harming  ! 


Thy  Bouquet.  155 


THY  BOUQUET. 


The  lily  of  the  valley  lent 
Its  odor  of  green  solitude  ; 

It  seemed  a  lowly  monument 

Of  some  sweet  sorrow  in  thy  mood. 


The  modest  violet  repined 

I  know,  to  leave  its  forest  dell, 

And  yet  it  yielded  undefined 

Remembrances  of  one  loved  well. 


156  Thy  Bouquet. 

I  knew  not  if  it  were  dear  hopes 
That  I  might  look  upon  them  soon, 

But  the  rose  unveiled  the  golden  slopes 
With  birds  and  rivers  in  the  noon. 


O  lily,  violet  and  rose, 

Conveyers  of  some  secret  thought, 
Your  message  still  completer  grows 

Since  with  you  blooms  forget-me-not  ! 


Between  the  Twilight  and  the  Dawn.  157 


BETWEEN  THE  TWILIGHT  AND  THE  DAWN. 


Between  the  twilight  and  the  dawn, 

While  slumber  holds  my  limbs  and  senses, 

Save  the  slow  breathing,  life  is  gone 
And  left  to  sleep  her  slight  defenses. 


How  still  my  body,  ah,  how  quiet, 
Between  the  twilight  and  the  dawn  ! 

How  much  more  mad  my  fancies  riot 
Because  it  sleeps  in  silence  on  ! 


158  Between  the  Twilight  and  the  Dawn. 

How  much  more  mad,  how  much  more  wild, 
How  much  more  fanciful  my  soul  is  ! 

It  roams  thy  room,  my  happy  child, 
Entranced  among  thy  holy  holies. 


And,  oh,  if  it  do  bend  so  near, 

That  thy  too  tremulous  lips  it  brushes, 

Yet  have  no  fear,  in  dreams  no  fear, 
But  sleep  on  in  unbroken  hushes. 


To  some  sweet  place  my  soul  is  gone, 

While  slumber  holds  my  limbs  and  senses, 

Between  the  twilight  and  the  dawn — 
O  Death  destroy  their  frail  defenses 

And  let  them  moveless  slumber  on  ! 


Ebba  af  Hjelmsdter.  159 


EBBA  AF  HJELMSATER. 


Full  many  things  were  dear  in  earth, 
Sadness  and  loveliness,  my  thrall, 

But  you  were  dearer,  you  had  worth 
Beyond  them  all. 


I  leaned  above  your  gentle  face 
Seeing  no  sorrow  and  no  pain, 

And  now  all  night  my  wild  thoughts  chase 
You  through  my  brain. 


The  Death  of  Hope. 


THE  DEATH  OF  HOPE. 


My  lady  lay  all  listlessly, 
With  the  doomed  day  about  to  die, 
And  did  her  lips  in  moving  pray? 
'Twas  thus  my  lady  lay. 


Her  eyes  were  full  of  sombre  light, 
As  if  she  knew  of  nearing  night 
And  gazed  upon  an  unknown  way — 
'Twas  thus  my  lady  lay. 


1 6  2  The  Death  of  Hope. 

Half  rising  heavily  on  her  hand, 
She  looked  a  long  look  o'er  the  land 
Growing  with  gloaming  into  gray — 
Then  low  my  lady  lay. 


A  soft  sob  and  a  softer  sigh, 
As  of  leaves  that  stir  when  winds  pass  by ; 
Be  meek  and  mourn  as  mourn  I  may, 
For  low  my  lady  lay. 


With  a  Water-lily.  163 


WITH  A  WATER-LILY. 
From  the  Norwegian  of  H.  Ibsen. 

My  loved  one,  what  I  bring,  ah,  see  ! 
A  flower  with  snowy  wings  to  thee  ; 
Upon  the  still  stream  slumbering 
Dream-heavy  swam  it  in  the  spring. 


If  thou  wilt  place  it  where  'tis  meet, 
Then  place  it  on  thy  bosom,  sweet ; 
Behind  its  petals  secretly 
A  deep  and  silent  wave  will  be. 


1 64  With  a  Water-lily. 

Beware,  my  child,  the  gliding  stream  ! 
Dangerous,  dangerous  there  to  dream — 
For  Necken  sounds  his  lute  asleep — 
The  lilies  lie  above  it  deep. 


My  child,  thy  bosom  is  the  stream. 
Dangerous,  dangerous  there  to  dream  ! 
The  lilies  lie  above  it  deep — 
And  Necken  plays  although  asleep. 


The  Flame  in  the  Wind.  \  65 


THE  FLAME  IN  THE  WIND. 


It  starts  and  shivers,  pales  and  trembles, 
Now  fixed  and  certain,  now  despairing ; 

Now  thin,  it  some  wan  ghost  resembles, 
Once  bright  and  beaming  and  uncaring. 


And  now,  behold  it  leap  and  quiver, 
With  its  last  strength,  but  fade  in  trying 

Thus  I  start,  tremble,  pale  and  shiver, 
Now  fixed  and  certain  and  now  dying  ! 


The  Bell.  167 


THE  BELL. 


The  body  is  a  temple 
As  men  have  said  ; 

My  heart  is  a  bell 

Which  tolls  love  dead. 


Love  lies  in  the  transept 
All  clothed  in  white  ; 

Through  the  windows  low 
Comes  the  wan  red  light. 


1 68  The  Bell. 

Past  days  come  slowly 
To  look  at  her, 

And  they  sigh  as  they  think 
What  her  glories  were. 


The  body  is  a  temple 
As  men  have  said  ; 

The  heart  is  a  bell ; 
It  tolls  love  dead. 


The  Mummy.  169 


THE  MUMMY. 


I  laid  her  memory  away 

With  one  sweet  rose  that  she  had  given, 
Here  in  a  secret  drawer  one  day — 

No  record  has  that  day  in  Heaven. 


And  many  soulless  years  have  died 
Ere  happy  chance  again  reveals  it, 

All  bandaged,  rolled  and  swathed  and  tied 
In  one  long  ribbon  which  conceals  it. 


170  The  Mummy. 

Unrolled,  but  fragrant  dust  I  stir, 

Yet  she  is  there  as  love  once  showed  her- 

For  the  dead  rose  in  its  sepulchre 
Embalmed  the  maiden  with  its  odor. 


To  Music.  171 


TO  MUSIC. 


Late  thou  spokest  to  me, 

Giving  wings  to  my  thought, 

For  my  soul  was  made  free 

By  thy  sweet  mystery, 
But  again  it  is  caught. 


But  where  did  it  go  ? 

Why  came  it  again  ? 
Ah  !  I  feel  the  sad  blow 
The  awaking  to  know — 

Ah  !  I  feel  the  sad  pain. 


172  To  Music. 


Late  thou  spokest  to  me, 

Waking  dreams  in  my  thought, 
For  my  soul  was  made  free 
By  thy  strange  mystery, 

But  again  it  is  caught. 


To  the  Silent  King.  173 


TO  THE  SILENT  KING. 


O  thou  austere  and  silent  king, 

No  more  my  fancies  do  forswear  thee, 

But  to  thy  shadowy  shrine  they  bring 
This  token  of  the  love  I  bear  thee. 


Though  whom  thy  sad  and  fatal  eyes 
Do  fix  upon  must  fail  and  falter, 

Though  whom  they  see — tomorrow  dies — 
I  hang  these  verses  at  thy  altar. 


174  To  the  Silent  King. 

I  hang  them  at  thy  shrine,  O  king, 
Amidst  the  moaning  and  the  sighing  ! 

From  hate  I  turn  to  worshipping, 
And  unto  loving  from  defying. 


If  that  God  be  as  mortals  say, 

Who  changes  what  seems  sweet  to  curses, 
Then  bids  us  kneel  to  Him  and  pray — 

I  turn  from  Him  to  ask  thy  mercies. 


Or  if,  as  fewer  men  conceive, 
All  soul  is  due  to  dust's  endeavor 

Its  lowly  form  and  place  to  leave — 
How  much  more  am  I  thine  forever  ! 


For,  after  all,  to  him  who  fails, 

Whom  thy  stern  eyes  so  wear  and  wither, 
Thy  fatal  look  so  blights  and  pales, 

Thy  influence  draws  unswerving  hither, 


To  the  Silent  King  175 

Thou  grantest  this  :  that  he  shall  sleep 

Through  all  these  centuries'  uproar  listless, 

In  earth's  great  tumult  silence  keep — 
A  sweet  oblivion  and  resistless. 


Ah  !   him  thy  beauteous  eyes  shall  hold 
Till  grief  is  gone  and  past  is  passion  ; 

Then  shalt  thou  to  thy  bosom  fold 
Him  dreamless  in  thy  pitying  fashion. 


So,  Wearer  of  the  Cypress  Crown, 
Thou  sombre  liege  of  my  adoring, 

Here  at  thy  feet  I  lay  me  down, 
Thy  mercy  and  thy  aid  imploring  : 


That  thou  wilt  erelong  deign  to  lay 
Upon  my  head  thy  hand  forgetful, 

So  soothing  all  these  shapes  away 
Which  haunt  me  in  this  fever  fretful ; 


1 76  To  the  Silent  King. 

Till  care  and  weariness  shall  cease 

For  me  within  these  shadows  kneeling, 

And  I  shall  feel  thy  blissful  peace, 

Thy  drowsy  languor  through  me  stealing  ; 


And  thou  shalt  hold  me  with  thine  eyes, 
No  more  this  bitterness  deploring, 

Through  all  these  noisy  centuries, 
Thou  silent  God  of  my  adoring ! 


AXEL". 


FROM    THE   SWEDISH    OF 


ESAIAS    TEGNER 


His  willing  Muse  on  hills  of  Sweden  strayed. 
Though  far  too  queenly  for  a  land  so  lone, 
For  lofty  was  she,  as  some  Northern  maid, 
And  all  sweet  hues  of  Southron  seemed  her  own  : 
Sometimes  but  fair  as  Grecian  goddesses, 
Sometimes  a  glory  in  the  robe  of  morn, 
Now  Axel's  maid  in  passion's  tenderness, 
Now  Frithiof's  bride  whom  milder  loves  adorn." 
— MALMSTROM. 


Axel.  1 79 


AXEL. 


The  olden  time  is  dear  to  me, 

The  Carolinian  era1  olden, 

For  it  was  glad  as  conscience  golden 

And  valorous  as  victory  ; 

While  still  upon  the  Norland  lies 

Its  halo  round  encircling  skies, 

And  mighty  forms  of  heroes  true, 

With  yellow  belts  and  coats  of  blue, 

At  twilight  wander  far  and  near. 

I  look  with  awe  as  ye  appear, 

O  heroes,  who  on  high  abide, 

With  kirtles,  and  long  swords  at  side  ! 


i8o  Axel. 

An  aged  warrior  I  knew  in 

The  dear  days  of  my  childhood,  when 

On  earth  he  stood,  but  even  then 

An  arch  of  victory  in  ruin. 

And  from  his  century  brow  there  shone 

The  only  silver  which  he  had, 

And  scars  upon  his  forehead  said 

What  runes  say  on  a  bauta-stone.a 

Himself  a  poor  man,  he  had  felt 

The  poor  man's  lot,  but  scorned  its  pain  ; 

While  in  a  forest  hut  he  dwelt, 

His  soul  still  sought  the  battle  plain. 

But  two  bright  jewels  were  his  care 

Whose  worth  the  world  had  not  outweighed- 

His  Bible  and  the  ancient  blade 

With  "  Karl  the  Twelfth  "  engraven  there. 

The  battles  by  that  chieftain  fought, 

Now  in  a  hundred  writings  sought, 

(That  eagle  flew  so  far  around) 

Were  in  the  old  man's  memory  stored, 

Like  urns  of  warriors  deplored 

Within  some  green  old  burial  mound. 

O  when  he  spake  of  danger  near 

The  monarch  or  his  men  in  blue, 


Axel.  181 

How  high  he  held  his  head  anew, 

How  glowing  did  his  eyes  appear, 

How  sturdy  as  a  sabre's  clang 

Each  word  that  from  his  two  lips  sprang  ! 

So  oft  and  long  at  night  he  sat 

And  talked  of  former  time  and  fame  ; 

Whene'er  he  spake  his  monarch's  name 

He  lifted  off  his  threadbare  hat. 

I  stood  in  wonder  by  his  knees, 

(For  then  I  reached  but  little  higher) — 

The  high-born  image  of  his  sire, 

Which  youth  then  saw,  my  manhood  sees, 

And  many  a  legend  undefined 

Dwelled  afterward  within  my  mind 

Sword-lily-like,  whose  embryo 

Doth  slumber  under  winter  snow. 


The  old  man  rests  and  is  no  more. 
Peace  to  his  dust  !     This  story's  worth 
I  owe  to  him.     O  take  it,  North, 
And  Axel's  fate  with  me  deplore  ! 
Beside  his  tale  my  song  is  nought 
But  simple  rhymes  together  brought. 


1 82  Axel. 

In  Benders  lay  the  mighty  king, 

His  country  waste  with  pillaging, 

His  name,  late  honored,  laughed  to  scorn. 

His  followers,  like  a  chief  forlorn 

Who  late  the  deathly  chill  has  felt, 

Behind  their  lifted  bucklers  knelt, 

And  now  no  hope  of  succor  blessed 

Another  than  his  noble  breast. 

Though  battle  was  the  pages  turning 

Of  Fate's  book,  though  the  earth  did  sway, 

Serene  stood  he  like  some  archway 

Unharmed  within  a  city  burning, 

Some  cliff  above  the  wild  sea- wave, 

Or  Fortitude  beside  the  grave. 


One  evening  unto  Axel  said  he, 
"  Here  is  a  note  " — a  message  laid  he 

Within  his  hands — "  Haste  thou  away, 
"  And,  Axel,  ride  both  night  and  day 
"  Up  unto  Sweden  ;  when  dost  land, 
"  Commit  this  to  the  Council's  hand. 
"  But  hence  with  God  this  evening  fare 
"  And  greet  for  me  the  mountains  there !  " — 


Axel.  183 

Young  Axel,  loving  well  to  ride, 

With  joy  received  and  sewed  it  in 

His  girdle.     Under  Holofzim 

His  father  fell  the  king  beside, 

And  left  alone  the  army's  son 

Grew  up  in  din  of  sword  and  gun. 

His  was  a  form  of  beauty,  and 

Such  as  e'en  now  the  North  may  bear, 

As  fresh  as  rose,  but  tall  and  fair 

As  any  pine  in  Sweden's  land. 

As  heaven  upon  a  cloudless  day 

His  brow  was  arched  and  bold  and  bright, 

And  serious  in  their  earnest  light 

His  noble  features  ever  lay. 

You  saw  it  in  his  shining  eyes, 

That  they  were  made  to  look  above 

With  honest  hope  and  trusting  love 

To  the  Father  of  Light  within  the  skies, 

And  down  with  fearlessness  on  him 

Who  sees  alone  the  midnight  dim. — 

Among  the  royal  guardss  he  found 

A  place  with  souls  like  his  renowned, 

A  little  band  whose  number  small 

Was  one  for  every  Dipper  star, 

Or  nine,  as  Memory's  daughters  are, 

And  wisely  were  they  chosen  all. 


1 84  Axel. 

They  proved  themselves  by  sword  and  flame  ; 

It  was  a  christened  Viking-stem, 

Not  unlike  that  preceding  them, 

Whose  dragon-ships  through  ocean  came. 

They  never  slept  upon  a  bed, 

But  in  their  cloaks  upon  the  earth 

'Mid  drifts  and  tempests  from  the  north 

As  calmly  as  where  flowers  spread  ; 

They  oft  crushed  horse-shoes  in  their  games ; 

None  ever  saw  them  round  the  flames 

That  crackle  in  the  fire-place  bright ; 

They  rather  chose  the  warmth  of  balls 

As  red  as  the  round  sun  which  falls 

Slow  down  in  blood  some  winter  night. 

It  was  their  law  in  battle  bold 

That  one  should  yield  to  seven  first, 

With  breast  still  turned  unto  the  worst — 

The  back  no  victor  should  behold. 

And  lastly  was  a  charge  beside, 

Most  arduous  duty  yet  assigned — 

Unto  no  maid  to  turn  their  mind 

Till  Karl  himself  had  found  a  bride  : 

However  blue  two  eyes  might  beam, 

However  red  two  lips  might  be, 

However  fair  some  bosom  seem, 

Like  swans  upon  a  gentle  sea, — 


Axel.  185 

To  close  their  eyes — or  haste  away, 
For  wedded  to  their  swords  were  they. 


Young  Axel  mounts  his  charger  gay 
And  gallops  swiftly  night  and  day 
Until  he  comes  to  Ukraine's  streams, 
When  suddenly  the  woodland  gleams 
With  ambushed  sabres  bright  around, 
And  now  a  circle  guards  the  ground. 

"  Thou  bearest  from  Bender  Karl's  decree — 

"  Dismount,  surrender  it  to  me  ! 

"  Dismount  or  die  !  " — his  sword  held  high 
Comes  down  in  Swedish  plain  reply ; 
The  speaker  humbled  by  his  worth 
Bows  low  in  blood  unto  the  earth. 
Beside  an  oak  in  bold  affray 
The  warrior  playeth  now  his  play ; 
Where'er  the  heavy  sabre  sings, 
It  bends  a  knee  and  red  blood  brings  ; 
He  keeps  his  covenant  aright ; 
Not  one  to  seven — that  were  small — 
His  sword  on  twenty  swords  does  fall  ! 
He  fights  as  did  Rolf  Krake  fight6— 
In  his  distress  no  aid  asks  he, 
But  only  seeks  death's  company. 


1 86  Axel. 

Yet  wounds  with  mouths  of  purple  hue 

Now  whisper  his  last  moments  too  ; 

Though  round  his  heart  the  blood  grows  chill, 

His  fingers  grasp  the  weapon  still ; 

But  darkness  fills  his  eyes,  and  white 

He  sinks  into  the  long,  long  night. 


But  hark  !  the  woods  give  forth  a  sound, 
And  falcon  bold  and  faithful  hound 
Follow  the  prey.     In  hurried  chase 
A  company  swings  up  apace. 
Upon  a  spotted  steed  advances, 
With  habit  green  and  cheeks  rose-red, 
With  speed  as  if  by  whirlwind  led, 
An  Amazon  fair  as  daylight's  glances. 
In  fright  the  band  of  robbers  flies. 
As  from  the  dead  her  courser  shies, 
With  one  quick  spring  she  leaps  to  earth 
And  sees  him  lie,  as  in  the  glen 
The  oak  lies  fallen  on  bushes  when 
The  storm  has  ravaged  from  the  north. 
How  fair  he  lay  there  in  his  blood  ! 
Maria  bending  o'er  him  stood 
Like  Dian  who,  in  years  before 
Descending  from  the  heavenly  door 


Axel.  187 

To  Latmos,  far  from  hunting  flown, 
Leaned  over  her  Endymion  ; 
But  he  who  spells  on  Dian  cast 
Was  not  more  beauteous  than  this  last. 
A  spark  of  life  is  still  descried 
Within  his  bosom  bare  and  torn, 
And  on  a  bier  of  branches  borne, 
Which  but  a  moment  does  provide, 
The  pallid  one  they  quickly  bring 
Unto  her  dwelling  neighboring. 


Beside  his  pillowed  head  she  sate, 
Her  pity  and  sad  grief  prevailing, 
And  fastened  on  his  features  paling 
Her  glances  worth  a  king's  estate. 
She  sat  as  in  the  groves  of  Greece, 
(Fair  land  which  time  now  overthrows  !) 
A  wild  flower  often  lonely  grows 
Beside  a  fallen  Hercules. 
At  length  from  trance  awakened  weak, 
He  starts  up  and  begins  to  speak, 
But,  ah,  his  eyes  before  so  mild 
Now  stare  around  him  vague  and  wild  : 


1 88  Axel. 

"  Where  am  I  ?     Girl,  what  wilt  from  me  ? 

' '  Me  never  must  a  woman  see  ! 

'•  I  unto  Karl  the  king  am  bound. 

"  Thy  tears  must  fall  not  in  my  wound. 

"  My  father  in  the  Milky  Way 

"  Is  angered,  he  has  heard  my  vow. 

"  How  fair  though  is  the  tempter  now  ! 

"  How  luring  !     Dark  one,  do  not  stay  ! 

"  Where  is  my  girdle !  where  my  note 

' '  Which  Karl  himself  my  ruler  wrote  ? 

"  My  father's  sword  is  good — it  bites 

"  Right  faithfully  the  Muscovites. 

"  It  was  a  pleasure  thus  to  slay — 

"  If  but  the  king  had  seen  the  fray  ! 

"  They  fell  like  grain  before  the  steel — 

"  I  almost  seemed  myself  to  reel. 

"  The  letter  I  to  Stockholm  take, 

"  For  it  my  honor  is  at  stake. 

'•  Up  !  moments  now  are  dear  to  me  !  " — 
Thus  speaks  in  raging  fever  he, 
But  paly  sinks  the  warrior  then 
On  peaceful  pillow  down  again. 


Both  life  and  death  sought  mastery, 
But  life  its  forces  brought  anew 


Axel.  189 

Till  death  and  danger  slow  withdrew  ; 
Well  now  indeed  could  Axel  see 
With  clearer  eyes  though  weak  and  dim 
The  angel  sitting  near  to  him. 
Unlike  was  she  idyllic  maids 
Who  go  and  sigh  in  greening  glades 
And  pine  for  aye  in  one  same  spot, 
With  golden  hair  like  sun  just  set, 
Each  cheek  a  pink  night-violet, 
Each  eye  a  blue  forget-me-not. 
An  Eastern  child  was  she  ;  as  fair 
Upon  her  lay  her  raven  hair 
As  midnight  on  some  rose-clad  field, 
And  joy's  glad  mood,  the  only  truth, 
Sat  proudly  on  her  brow  of  youth 
Like  Victory  graven  on  a  shield. 
Her  face  was  fresh  as  limners  trace 
Aurora's  with  its  crown  of  grace, 
And  she  had  become  an  Oread, 
As  light  of  foot,  as  gay  and  glad, 
And  high  her  bosom's  billows  came 
By  youthfulness  and  vigor  heaved  ; 
Her  form  the  rose  and  lily  weaved, 
Her  soul  was  purest  fire  and  flame — 
A  southern  summer  sky,  most  fair 
With  golden  sun  and  perfume  "rare. 


190  Axel. 

There  struggled  in  her  twilight  eye 
A  heavenly  and  an  earthly  brand ; 
At  times  she  glanced  up  proudly,  and 
Seemed  like  the  bird  of  Jove  on  high, 
And  sometimes  mildly  as  the  two 
Doves  that  the  car  of  Venus  drew. 


O  Axel,  soon  thy  wounds'  deep  smart 
Is  over  and  but  scars  remain  ; 
Outside  thy  breast  will  heal  again, 
But,  ah,  how  is  it  with  thy  heart  ? 
Look  not  so  fondly  on  that  hand 
Which  ever  answered  pain's  command- 
That  hand  like  marble  white  and  fine, 
It  must  not  linger  long  in  thine ; 
It  is  more  perilous  by  far 
Than  at  the  siege  of  Bender,  where 
Hard  hands  of  Ottomans  there  were 
With  pistol  and  with  scimetar  ; — 
Those  rosy  lips  that  bloom  anew 
And  only  part  to  murmur  through 
A  spirit-song  of  hope  and  cheer — 
Far  better  if  again  were  heard 
The  thunder  that  Czar  Peter  stirred 
At  Pultow?  in  a  former  year. 


Axe!.  191 


And  when  about  in  summer  warm 
Thou  falterest  all  pale  and  wan, 
Then,  Axel,  lean  thy  sword  upon, 
And  not  upon  that  rounded  arm, 
Which  Amor  moulded  thus  it  seems 
As  downy  pillow  for  sweet  dreams. 


O  Love,  thou  earth  and  heaven  wonder, 
Thou  inspiration  blest  and  rare, 
Like  godlier  and  fresher  air 
Life's  suffocating  forest  under  ! 
Thou  heart  in  Nature's  bosom  calm  ! 
Thou  both  to  man  and  God  a  balm  ! 
The  drop  the  drop  seeks  in  the  sea, 
And  all  the  heavenly  stars  we  see 
In  bridal-dance  from  pole  to  pole 
Aiound  a  common  centre  roll. 
In  human  souls  thou  dwellest  frail, 
A  twilight  gleam,  a  memory  pale 
Of  fairer  and  of  better  days, 
When  thou  wert  at  thy  childhood  plays 
In  heaven,  whose  great  pavilion  blue 
Thou  sleptst  in  after  frolic  warm 
Each  evening  on  thy  Father's  arm. 


192  Axel. 

Thy  riches  were  by  knowledge  given  ; 

Thy  speech  was  but  a  gentle  prayer  ; 

And  unto  thee  dear  brothers  were 

All  winged  and  beauteous  sons  of  heaven. 

But,  ah,  thou'st  fall'n  down  here,  since  when 

Thy  love  is  not  as  pure  again. 

Still  'mong  beloved  one  comprehends 

The  nearness  of  thy  heavenly  friends, 

And  hears  their  voices  in  the  song 

Of  spring,  or  tunes  of  bard  among. 

Once  more  thy  soul  is  gladdened  then, 

As  his  who  hears  in  wanderings 

A  song  of  fatherland  which  brings 

His  Alps  and  boyhood  back  again. 


It  was  at  night.     The  Even  lay 
Upon  her  western  bed  in  dreaming, 
And  silent,  priests  Egyptian  seeming, 
The  stars  began  their  march  away. 
And  Earth  seemed  in  the  starlight  pale 
A  happy  bride  who  standeth  fair, 
A  crown  upon  her  raven  hair, 
And  smile  and  blush  beneath  her  veil. 


Axel.  193 

While  from  the  day's  long  play  at  rest, 
Still  lay  the  Naiad  laughing  low, 
And  reddening  sunset  all  aglow 
Seemed  like  a  rose  upon  her  breast ; 
Then  every  Cupid  who  lay  bound 
When  shone  the  sun  was  free  to  ride 
On  all  the  moonbeams  far  and  wide, 
With  dart  and  bow  the  grove  around — 
The  grove,  that  dim  and  green  arcade 
Where  Spring  her  recent  entrance  made. 
Among  the  oaks  the  nightingale 
A  melody  caroled  through  the  dale, 
As  tender  and  as  pure  and  plain 
As  any  poem  of  Franzen.s 
It  seemed  that  Nature  now  was  glad 
That  she  a  silent  moment  had, 
So  full  of  life  and  yet  so  still 
One  might  have  heard  her  pulse's  thrill. — 
Then  slowly  walked  together  there, 
With  minds  entranced,  the  youthful  pair  ; 
As  lovers  rings  exchange,  so  they 
Their  memories  of  childhood's  day. 
Of  happy  long  gone  days  he  told, 
Passed  in  his  mother's  cottage  old, 
Built  up  of  fir-wood  painted  red 
And  hidden  in  the  forest  grand  ; 


1 94  Axel. 

And  of  his  cherished  fatherland 
And  courtly  kinsmen  who  were  dead. 
He  told  how  oftentimes  and  long 
The  deep  and  olden  warrior-song 
And  leather-bound  historic  lore 
Awoke  his  soul  to  rise  and  soar  ; 
And  how  in  many  a  dream  at  night 
A  man  of  steel  he  sat  upright 
Upon  the  twelve-foot  pacer  Grane,9 
And  rode  like  Sigurd  Fofnisbane 
The  fires  that  were  enchanted  through 
To  Brynhild  fair,  whose  mountain  tower 
Stood  flaming  in  the  moonlight  hour 
Above  the  bays  that  round  it  grew. 
Within  his  chamber  ill  at  ease, 
He  fled  among  the  greenwood  trees 
And  climbed  with  boyish  pleasure  up 
To  the  eagle  in  the  fir-tree  top, 
And  swung  upon  the  northwind  slow 
With  heart  refreshed  and  cheek  aglow. 
O  could  one  but  a  ride  obtain 
Upon  the  passing  cloudlet's  wain, 
And  far  beyond  the  harbor  glide 
Into  the  world  so  fair  and  wide, 
Where  victory  nods  and  glories  wait 
To  wreathe  the  hair  of  brave  and  great, 


Axel.  195 

Where  Karl  the  king  (who  it  appears 

Is  older  by  some  seven  years) 

With  good  sword  plucks  what  crowns  he  may, 

Then  godlike  gives  them  quick  away  ! 
"  My  mother  after  fifteen  years 
"  No  more  embraced  me,  and  with  tears 
"  I  hastened  thence  to  Poland  o'er. 
"  To  camp  since  then  my  life  has  turned, 
"  And  faithful  as  a  watch-fire  burned 
"  In  clash  of  steel  and  cannon  roar. 
"  But  sometimes  saw  I  birds  meseems 
"  That  fed  with  soft  caress  their  young, 
"  Sometimes  a  child  that  played  among 
"  The  flowers  on  the  brinks  of  streams  ; 
"  Then  vain  became  the  battle's  thunder, 
"  And  those  sweet  scenes  and  places  grew 
"  Into  my  soul  with  golden  hue 
"  Of  happy  children  green  groves  under; 
"  And  by  a  quiet  cottage  door, 
"  A  maiden  stood,  and  sunset's  flame 
"  Lit  up  her  face  which  was  the  same 
"  I  saw  at  times  in  dreams  before; 
"  But  now  in  sooth  these  forms  appear 
"  Forever  in  my  soul  to  be  ; 
"  I  close  my  eyes  and  still  I  see 
"  Them  all  around  alive  and  clear. 


196  Axel. 

"  The  maid  who  stands  among  them,  she 
"  Is  thine  own  mirrored  self,  Marie  !  " 


Then  timidly  replied  Marie  : 
"  What  pleasure  does  not  man  possess  ! 
"  The  stronger  one  is  fetterless 
"  And  was  from  birth  among  the  free  ; 
"  And  danger's  charm  and  glory's  name 
"  And  earth  and  heaven — all  his  became. 
"  'Twas  woman's  fate  to  have  been  made 
"  To  be  through  life  to  man  an  aid, 
"  A  solace  to  his  poignant  grief 
"  Forgotten  when  he  finds  relief; 
4 '  The  offering  she,  and  he  the  fire 
"  Which  unto  heaven  doth  bright  aspire. — 
"  Beneath  the  Czar  my  father  fell ; 
"  I  scarce  recall  my  mother's  face; 
"  The  moorland  child  grew  wild  apace 
"  Upon  these  lands,  where  slaves  serve  well 
"  Their  master's  whims,  bear  cheerily 
"  The  idol  of  their  misery. 
"  A  noble  mind  must  loathe  to  stay 
"  With  those  who  every  nod  obey. 
"  Didst  see  upon  the  moorland  wide 
"  The  fiery  steeds  that  there  abide  ? 


Axel.  197 

"  As  brave  as  hero,  light  as  hind, 

"  They  yield  them  to  no  lord's  command ; 

"  With  ears  erect  they  steady  stand 

"  And,  turned  to  danger,  face  the  wind, 

"  When  sudden  in  a  cloud  again 

"  The  throng  sweeps  swiftly  o'er  the  plain 

"  With  unshod  hoof  to  fight  their  foes ; 

"  And  they  too  have  their  joys  and  woes. 

"  Ye  children  of  the  desert  fair, 

"  How  blest  your  life  on  meadows  there  ! 

"  Full  oft  I  called  and  bade  them  bide, 

"  Whene'er  my  neighing  Tartar  steed, 

"  Like  bridled  slave  me  bore  with  speed 

"  To  his  unshackled  brothers'  side  ; 

"  They  would  not  heed  my  words  nor  stay, 

"  But  fled  disdainfully  away. 

"  Oppressive  to  my  soul  unbound 

"  Became  the  castle's  irksome  round, 

"  And  warfare  I  with  zeal  incurred 

"  With  forest  wolf  and  mountain  bird, 

"  And  oft  from  bears'  paws  did  reclaim 

"  A  life  which  then  of  worth  became. 

"  But,  Nature,  none  can  change  thy  will  ! 

"  Within  a  cottage,  on  a  throne, 

"  A  housewife  or  an  Amazon, 

"  A  woman  is  a  woman  still, 


198  Axel. 

"  A  vine  which  unsupported  dies, 

"  A  being  partly  incomplete 

"  Whose  life  unshared  is  life  unsweet, 

"  Whose  joy  in  twofold  pleasure  lies, 

"  There  throbs  within  my  inmost  breast 

"  A  feeling  of  a  sweet  unrest, 

"  A  longing  I  can  ill  define, 

"  Such  pain  and  yet  such  bliss  is  mine. 

"  It  has  no  bound,  it  has  no  aim, 

"  It  is  as  if  I  winged  became 

"  And  went  from  earth  and  all  that  mars 

"  To  God's  pure  mansion  and  the  stars, 

"  As  if  again  I  downward  fell 

"  Unto  those  beings  cherished  well — 

"  The  trees  whose  growth  with  me  was  made, 

"  The  hill  in  flowery  crown  arrayed, 

"  The  river  running  with  love-chimes — 

"  I  heard  them,  saw  a  thousand  times 

"  But  with  a  statue's  unconcern — 

"  Now  first,  now  first  my  love  they  learn  ! 

"  It  is  for  self  my  love  is  weak; 

"  It  is  a  feeling  far  more  true 

"  And  loftier  than  before "     Here  flew 

A  blush  across  the  maiden's  cheek, 
And  meanings  which  she  could  not  say 
Within  a  sigh  were  breathed  away. 


Axel.  199 

Now  sings  the  nightingale  in  gloom ; 

The  moon  in  clouds  to  listen  is, 

And  with  a  long,  eternal  kiss, 

As  warm  as  life,  as  true  as  tomb, 

Their  spirits  mingle  in  one  tone, 

One  blissful  harmony  alone. 

They  kissed  as  in  an  altar-fire 

Two  flames  oft  kiss  and  then  unite, 

And  flash  aloft  their  higher  light, 

And  nearer  unto  heaven  aspire. 

For  them  the  earth-life  was  no  more, 

And  time  stood  still  which  fled  before  ; 

For  every  moment  in  the  rounds 

Of  time  is  measured  and  has  bounds, 

But  Death's  cold  kiss  and  Love's  embrace 

Are  children  of  a  deathless  race. 

O  happy  ones  !     If  earth  and  all 

Should  change  to  mist,  they  would  not  see  ; 

If  heaven  should  now  in  ruin  be, 

They  scarcely  would  perceive  its  fall : 

Like  guardian  souls  of  South  and  North, 

With  heart  to  heart  they  would  remain, 

Unconscious  that  they  did  attain 

To  bliss  of  heaven  from  that  of  earth. 

Back  from  the  heavenly  journey  made 


200  Axel. 

First  Axel  came  :     "  Now,  by  my  blade, 
"  By  Northern  faith,  by  stars  of  night 
"  Which  stand  like  bridesmaids  clothed  in  white 
"  And  throligh  the  midmost  forest  shine, 
"  By  earth  and  heaven,  thou  now  art  mine  ! 
"  O  were  I  far  from  battle's  riot, 
"  In  some  kind  dale  where  peace  and  quiet 
"  Between  the  mountains  ever  lie, 
"  With  thee  to  live,  with  thee  to  die  ! 
"  But,  ah,  an  oath,  an  oath  between, 
"  With  warning  look  and  pallid  mien, 
"  Comes  silent  and  lays  fingers  chill 
"  Upon  our  bosoms  fervid  still  ! 
"  But  fear  not !     Time  a  change  will  make 
"  And  loose  the  oath  I  dare  not  break. 
"  I  must  away  !     When  May  next  year 
"  Invites  us  to  her  floral  cheer, 
"  Once  more  I'll  come,  whate'er  betide, 
"  To  claim  thee  as  my  wife,  my  bride. 
"  Farewell,  my  soul,  we  meet  again, 
"  Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  till  then  !  " 


So  said  he  turned,  and  in  his  hands 
He  took  his  belt,  he  took  his  blade, 
And  fearlessly  his  journey  made 


Axel.  201 

Over  the  Czar's  one  hundred  lands. 
The  wood  his  cover  made  by  day  ; 
By  night  the  warrior  held  his  way 
Toward  that  heavenly  centre  far, 
Our  Northern  never-changing  star, 
Toward  the  Wain  of  Charles  the  bold, 
Which  never  wanders  from  our  sight, 
That  Wain  with  pole  all  burnished  bright 
And  wheel-spikes  fashioned  out  of  gold. 
So  riding  through  a  thousand  woes 
Amidst  a  multitude  of  foes, 
He  came  to  Sweden's  capital 
Where  all  his  strange  adventures  hear, 
And  brought  the  message  and  good  cheer 
As  Karl  bade  to  the  Council  hall. 


But  meanwhile,  in  her  vacant  halls, 
Maria  sighs  brave  Axel's  name  ; 
Deep  in  the  wood  she  sighs  the  same 
And  teaches  mount  and  vale  her  calls  : 

"  What  oath  restrains  him  with  its  band  ? 

"  Some  maiden  in  his  fatherland, 

"  An  older  flame?     He  loved  before  ? 

"  Alas  !  my  heart  distrusts  the  more. 

"  Thou  maid,  by  Northern  snows  concealed, 


202  Axel. 

"  Soon  one  of  us  to  fate  must  yield  ! 

"  Thou  knowest  not  what  burns  in  me; 

"  Far,  far  beyond  thy  frozen  sea, 

"  And  far  beyond  thy  mountains  high, 

"  I  will  pursue  thee — thou  must  die  ! 

"  Yet— Axel  left  the  North  in  youth 

"  And  has  not  been  there  since  in  truth, 

"  And  distant  from  the  din  of  fray 

"  It  is  the  shy  Loves'  wont  to  stay. 

"  'Tis  honor,  not  a  faithless  art, 

"  Upon  his  open  forehead  lies  ; 

"  It  is  in  glances  of  his  eyes 

"  I  see  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 

"  As  day  beholds  the  firm  bed  through 

"  Some  river  clear  and  silver-blue. 

"  Why  flyest  thou  ?     Thy  oath  enslaves 

"  Thee,  and  for  what  ?     This  breast  to  tear? 

"  What — but  my  voice  dies  into  air 

"  Like  sighs  of  widow  by  her  graves, 

"  Like  plaining  of  a  dove  which  flies 

'•  Unanswered  round  the  earth  and  skies. 

"  Between  us  roar  the  sea  and  wood, 

"  And,  ah,  he  cannot  hear  my  woe. 

"  What  if  I  follow  him  ?     But,  no, 

"  That  ill  becomes  my  womanhood. 

"  A  woman  ?     Who  will  know  ?     A  blade 


Axel.  203 

"  I  bear,  the  man  is  soon  arrayed. 

"  Great  dangers  have  I  often  hailed, 

"  When  life  or  death  was  chance  indeed  ; 

"  Fixed  have  I  grown  upon  my  steed, 

"  And  never  has  my  weapon  failed. 

' '  Some  god  has  made  me  this  design — 

"  Now  Axel,  Axel,  art  thou  mine  ! 

"  I  seek  thee  in  the  farthest  North, 

"  I  seek  the  round  the  whole  of  earth, 

"  From  dale  to  dale,  from  strand  to  strand 

"  This  secret  from  thy  lips  to  wring  ; 

"  Take  me,  O  War,  upon  thy  wing 

"  And  set  me  down  in  Axel's  land  !  " 


So  said  so  done.     To  say  and  do 
Are  one  with  woman.     Garments  new 
She  donned.     In  hat  that  warriors  wear 
She  hid  the  dark  night  of  her  hair, 
Concealed  her  bosom  in  disguise, 
And  filled  a  knapsack  with  supplies, 
While  from  her  shoulder  soft  and  fine 
Was  hung  the  deadly  carabine. 
Within  that  zone  Greek  legends  sing 
A  crooked  sword  was  glimmering; 
Then  round  about  her  lips  she  drew 


2O4  Axel. 

A  shadow  like  a  beard  unshorn — 

It  was  as  if  one  should  adorn 

With  mourning  crape  sweet  roses  two. 

She  seemed  in  sword  and  belt's  device 

Like  Amor  in  a  hero's  guise 

Whom  Clinias'  son  once  bore  embossed 

Upon  his  buckler  brightly  glossed. 


"  Farewell,  thou  home  serene  and  mild  ! 

"  Sometime  with  love  when  reconciled 

"  I  shall  return  to  thee  once  more. 

' '  No  longer  must  I  stay  my  flight ! 

•'  Take  me  within  thy  shade,  O  night, 

"  And  to  my  heart's  friend  me  restore  !  " — 

E'en  then  upon  his  conquered  field 

Within  the  Norland's  sleeping  eye, 

Stood  Peter's  capital  whereby 

Earth's  mortgaged  crowns  he  now  makes  yield. 

It  then  was  petty.     In  the  bay 

It  like  a  new-born  dragon  lay. 

Its  nature  entered  it  while  young, 

When  on  the  sunny  shingle  coiled  ; 

Soon  in  its  tooth  the  poison  boiled 

And  soon  it  hissed  with  cloven  tongue  ! 


Axel.  205 

'Tis  there  prepared  for  Sweden's  strand 

Lies  many  a  ship  with  blade  and  brand, 

And  thither  makes  Maria  way ; 

Amidst  bright  swords  and  banners  gay 

She  presses  forward  to  entreat 

A  place  aboard  the  northern  fleet. 

The  chieftain  of  the  fiery  hordes 

Surveys  her  keenly  with  these  words  : 
"  More  dangerous  must  thou  be  when 
"  The  maidens  see  thee,  than  when  men. 
"  When  thou  art  sent  against  them  they 
' '  Will  scarcely  pull  thy  beard  away. 
"  Still  thou  wilt  ways  of  war  be  taught 
"  By  those  who  in  the  battles  fought 
"  Seek  life  or  death.     But  o'er  each  land 
"  St.  Nicholas  and  God  command." 


Now  swell  the  sails  and  swift  keels  plough 

The  foam  upon  the  eastern  bay, 

And  soon  in  sunset's  fiery  ray 

Stand  Sweden's  cliffs,  appearing  now, 

Where  time  and  ocean  long  have  rolled, 

Like  Nature's  giant-buoys  of  old. 

They  disembarked  at  Sotaskar.'Q 


206  Axel. 

A  spot  to  true  hearts  dear  and  fair, 
Where  parted  once  forevermore 
Sweet  Ingeborg  and  Hjalmar  chief, 
Where  afterward  she  died  of  grief 
And  he  to  Odin  wandered  o'er; 
And  there  her  ghost  is  sitting  still 
Lamenting  him  upon  the  hill. 
Thou  northern  Leucas,  soon  will  perish 
Thy  name  in  days  of  legends  known, 
But  Hjalmar' s  death-song  will  atone 
And  thee  the  hearts  of  poets  cherish  ! 


Already  burn  the  hamlets  nigh, 
And  children  shriek  and  women  fly — 
They  know  too  well  the  Russian  blood ; 
The  bells  ring  round  the  neighborhood 
To  tell  their  course,  all  night,  all  day, 
But,  ah,  the  dead  cannot  awaken — 
O  woe,  thou  poor  land,  thou  forsaken, 
Within  their  graves  thy  warriors  stay  ! 
Still  danger  to  their  land  could  call 
Together  lads  and  old  men,  all 
With  swords  once  used  on  German  ground 
Beneath  great  Gustaf  Adolf's  banner, 


Axel.  207 

And  halberds  in  the  self-same  manner 
Used  when  they  crossed  the  Danish  sound, 
Then  here  and  there  an  arquebuse 
With  rusty  lock  and  lighted  fuse. 
These  were  the  men  who  then  arose, 
A  little  band  and  poorly  armed, 
Unhesitating,  unalarmed, 
To  march  against  their  many  foes. 
But  not  as  man  with  man  they  fight, 
Since  hangs  a  cloud  upon  the  height, 
And  foemen  from  their  mountain-hold, 
Whose  lines  undaunted  none  can  flank, 
Strike  death  in  volleys  quick  and  bold 
Upon  their  thinned,  revengeless  rank. 


As  comes  great  Thor  full  angrily 

With  hammer  and  with  girdle  round, 

So  Axel  comes  upon  the  ground 

Where  flight  and  terror  seem  to  be, 

A  helping  angel  sent  for  weal, 

Wrhose  arm  is  death,  whose  bosom  steel ; 

Now  here,  now  there,  he  guides  the  fight 

Alert  upon  his  charger  white. 

Stand,  Swedes,  and  close  your  lines  anew  ! 


208  Axel. 

"  King  Karl  hat  sent  me  here  to  you, 
"  And  greets  his  loyal  men  through  me. 
"  Let  '  God  and  Karl '  the  war-cry  be  !  " 
"  God  and  King  Karl !  "  the  cry  goes  round  ; 
They  hear  the  brave  one's  voice  resound. 
The  cliff,  whence  death  strikes  all  who  climb, 
Is  stormed  within  a  moment's  time  ; 
They  close  the  yawning  gullies  soon, 
While  arms  and  corpses  round  are  strewn, 
And  blind  but  true  the  broadswords  beat 
Upon  long  ranks  in  wild  retreat, 
For  startled  flies  the  robber-band 
To  drag  the  cables  from  the  strand. 


Like  sated  beast  of  prey  is  seen 
Still  Slaughter  sleeping  on  the  lea  ; 
The  moon  pours  from  the  canopy 
Upon  the  horrid  field  her  sheen. 
Along  the  bay  in  shadows  lying, 
Among  the  dead,  walks  Axel  sighing. 
They  lie  together  face  to  face. 
How  close  and  rigid  their  embrace  ! 
Wouldst  thou  a  faithful  clasp  behold  ? 
Look  not  on  Love's  where  they  enfold 


Axel.  209 

Each  other  smiling  tenderly ; 

Go  to  the  battlefield  and  see 

How  Hate  beneath  the  deadly  smart 

His  foeman  presses  to  his  heart  ! 

Ah,  fly  the  joys  of  love  and  cheer 

Like  sighing  winds  in  early  year, 

But  hate,  necessity  and  grief 

Are  steadfast  until  death's  relief. 

So  sighing,  suddenly  a  cry, 

A  moan  in  night  breaks  on  his  ear : 
"  O  Axel,  bring  me  water  here, 
"  And  take  my  farewell  ere  I  die  !  " 

At  words  like  these,  such  well-known  sounds, 

Among  the  rocks  he  headlong  bounds 

And  sees — a  youth  who  leans  unknown 

Wounded  and  bleeding  on  a  stone. 

The  moon  from  clouds  peers  forth  and  seeks 

Her  pallid  face — then  shudders  he 

And  in  a  tone  of  horror  shrieks, 
"  O  blessed  Jesu,  it  is  she  !  " 

Ah,  she  it  was  !     With  hidden  smart 

She  whispers  to  him  soft  and  light, 
"  Good  even,  Axel,  no,  good  night, 
"  For  Death  is  sitting  by  my  heart. 
' '  What  brought  me  here,  O  ask  not  me  ! 


2 1  o  Axel. 

"  It  was  my  blinded  love  of  thee. 

"  Ah,  when  the  day  to  darkness  wears, 

"  And  men  stand  by  the  grave's  new  door, 

"  How  changed  from  what  they  seemed  before 

"  Are  life  and  all  its  petty  cares  ! 

"  'Tis  only  love  like  ours  attends 

"  When  man  unto  the  skies  ascends. 

"  I  wished  to  know  thy  secret  vow  ; 

"  Among  the  stars  I  seek  it  now 

"  Where  it  is  written — I  shall  see 

"  As  clear  as  they  thy  honesty. 

"  I  know  I  have  been  rash,  and  feel 

"  Thy  grief  for  me  is  deep  and  real. 

"  Forgive  me  for  the  sake  of  love 

"  In  every  tear  my  grave  above. 

"  I  have  no  father,  mother,  brother  ; 

"  Thou  wept  my  brother,  father,  mother, 

"  Thou  wert  my  all — O  Axel,  swear 

"  In  death  that  thou  wilt  hold  me  dear ! 

"  Thou  swearest — why  should  I  deplore  ? 

"  The  sweetest  tale  in  all  its  lore 

"  Has  life  revealed  to  me.     Thy  maid, 

"  O  may  she  on  thy  heart  be  laid, 

"  And  may  her  ashes  not  repose 

"  Here  in  this  land  late  won  from  foes? 

"  Lo,  Axel,  o'er  the  moon  is  cast 


Axel.  211 

"  A  cloud  !  ah,  soon,  when  it  has  passed, 
"  Then  shall  I  die,  then  glorified 
"  My  shade  shall  sit  the  other  side, 
"  Beseeching  good  for  thee,  and  so 
"  With  all  heaven's  eyes  to  look  below. 
"  A  foreign  rose  let  grace  my  tomb, 
"  And  when  it  dies  in  wintry  gloom, 
"  The  sun's  child,  muse  upon  her  woe 
•'  Who  slumbers  under  northern  snow. 
"  Her  days  of  bloom  they  could  not  last — 
"  See,  Axel,  now  the  cloud  is  passed  ! 
"  Farewell,  farewell  !  " — she  softly  sighed, 
Then  gently  pressed  his  hand  and  died. 

From  underground  where  the  river  flows, 
Not  Death,  but  his  young  brother  rose, 
Pale  Madness,  who  is  crowned  e'er 
With  poppies  in  his  tangled  hair, 
Who  now  glares  wildly  at  the  skies, 
Now  earthward  lets  his  glances  slip, 
With  laughter  round  distorted  lip, 
And  tears  in  half-extinguished  eyes. 
He  lays  his  hand  on  Axel's  brow, — 
Ah,  Axel  wanders  round  her  now 
Entombed,  as  in  old  sagas  went 
Around  his  hoard  a  dead  man's  sprite  ; 


212  Axel. 

The  sea-sands  hear  him  day  and  night 
In  pitiful  and  dread  lament : 


"  Be  still,  be  still,  them  sea,  no  more 

"  Must  thou  thus  lash  and  beat  the  shore  ! 

' '  Thou  only  dost  disturb  my  dreams  ; 

"  I  do  not  love  thy  many  streams, 

' '  Which  sometimes  froth  in  bloody  tide — 

"  Thou  bearest  death  unto  my  side. 

"  Here  lately  lay  a  youth  and  bled  ; 

"  I  now  strew  loses  on  his  tomb, 

•'  For  he  was  like — I  well  know  whom — 

"  With  her  at  spring-time  I  shall  wed. 

"  They  tell  me  earth  has  rocked  to  sleep 

"  My  bride,  and  that  the  grass  grows  deep 

"  Upon  her  breast :  love  hath  not  died  ; 

"  She  sat  at  night  on  the  steep  hill-side 

"  As  pale  as  limners  Death  portray — 

"  But  that  was  from  the  moon's  white  ray; 

"  Her  lips  and  cheeks  were  frozen  through — 

' '  But  that  came  when  the  north-wind  blew ; 

"  I  bade  the  dear-loved  one  to  stay — 

;t  She  stroked  my  brow  in  gentle  way, 

"  For  it  was  dark  and  heavy  .then, 

"  But  soon  became  it  light  again. 


Axel.  213 

"  And  in  the  far  East  rose  before 

"  Me  days,  ah,  days  that  are  no  more, 

"  Those  azure  days  and  passing  fair — 

"  How  happy  they,  poor  Axel,  were  ! 

"  A  castle  stood  green  woods  among 

"  Whose  towers  unto  her  belong  ; 

"  I  lay  there  wounded  in  the  strife, 

"  And  with  a  kiss  she  gave  me  life, 

"  And  also  gave  her  heart  to  me, 

"  So  rich  and  warm  a  heart  had  she  ! 

"  Now  in  that  withered  breast  at  last 

"  It  frozen  lies — and  all  is  past ! 

"  Ye  stars,  that  burn  among  the  skies, 

"  I  pray  you  vanish  from  my  eyes  ! 

"  A  morning  star  was  known  to  me — 

"  It  sunk  down  in  a  bloody  sea. 

"  The  scent  of  blood  comes  from  the  sand, 

"  And  here  is  blood  upon  my  hand  !  " — 


So  mourns  he  under  Sotaskar. 
When  day  enkindles  he  is  there, 
Nor  goes  he  when  the  day  is  flown, 
But  sitteth  there  in  ceaseless  moan. 
One  morning  dead  beside  the  sea, 


214  Axel. 

With  hands  composed  in  prayer,  sat  he, 
And  tears  his  pallid  face  had  worn, 
Half-frozen  in  the  winds  of  morn  ; 
Unto  his  true-love's  barren  tomb 
His  eyes  were  turned  in  misty  gloom. 


Such  was  the  tale  I  heard  of  old. 

How  tenderly  it  then  was  told  ! 

Though  thirty  winters'  snows  have  been, 

It  still  exists  my  heart  within. 

For  with  their  features  fixed  and  sharp, 

The  childhood  scenes  are  pictured  well 

In  souls  of  bards,  where  small  they  dwell 

Like  Aslog11  in  King  Heimer's  harp, 

Until  as  she  they  forward  press, 

Betraying  then  their  godliness, 

With  beauteous  robes,  with  manners  high 

And  golden  hair  and  kingly  eye. 

In  childhood's  heaven  are  hung  untold 

Sweet  lyres  well-wrought  in  ruddy  gold  ; 

What  man  may  write  in  aftertime, 

As  hero  great,  or  flower  small, 

In  visions  fairer  glided  all 

Before  his  eye  in  childhood's  prime. 


Axel.  215 

Still  sometime  when  the  quail  doth  sing 

Melodiously  in  greening  spring, 

And  moon  comes  from  the  eastern  wave, 

A  spirit  rising  from  the  grave, 

Painting  the  dale  and  mountain-head 

With  mournful  colors  of  the  dead, 

Then  are  there  rustlings  in  mine  ear, 

And  then  again  I  seem  to  hear 

That  olden  tale,  known  far  and  wide, 

Of  Axel  and  his  Russian  bride. 


NOTES    TO    AXEL. 


Notes  to  Axel.  219 


NOTES  TO  AXEL. 

1.  The  Carolinian  Era  is  the  time  of  Karl  the  Twelfth. 

2.  A  bauta-stone  is   a  monument  to  a  dead  warrior  inscribed 
with  runes. 

3.  Bender  is  a  fortified  town  on  the  Dniester  in  Southern  Russia, 
the  retreat  of  Karl  the  Twelfth  after  the  disastrous  battle  of  Pultowa 
from  1709  to  1712. 

4.  Holofzin  is  a  village  in   Poland   where    Karl   the   Twelfth 
attacked  the  Russians  in  1708. 

5.  The  royal  body-guard  was  limited  to  seven  or  nine  members, 
equal  either  to  the  stars  in  Charles'   Wain  or   to  the   daughters   of 
Mnemosyne,  the  muses. 

6.  Rolf  Krake  was  a  king  of  Denmark  in  prehistoric  times,  much 
lauded  in  northern  sagas  for  his  prowess  in  battle.  When  treacherously 
surrounded  by  conspirators  under  his  half-sister  Skuld,  seeing  all  his 
comrades  fallen,  he  with  grim  pleasure  cleft  helmet  after  helmet  with 
his  great  sword,  seeking  "  only  company  in  death." 

7.  Pultowa  is  a  walled  city  in  Russia  where  Karl  the  Twelfth 
was  defeated  by  Peter  the  Great  in  1 709. 

8.  Frans  Michael  Franz6n  was  born  in  Finland  in  1772.     He 
and  Bishop  Tegn6r  and  Archbishop  Wallin  form  the  brilliant  triad  of 
distinguished  Swedish  poets  of  that  time.     His  lyrics  are  exceedingly 
popular  in  Finland  and  Sweden,  and  are  particularly  characterized  by 
beauty  of  diction  and  sweetness  of  fancy. 

9.  Sigurd  figures  in  northern   sagas  as  chiefest  of  heroes.     He 
slew  the  terrible   dragon  Fofnir  and   was  surnamed   Fofnisbane,  or 


220  Notes  to  Axel. 

Dragon-slayer,  in  commemoration  of  that  exploit.  He  is  represented 
as  bearing  a  shield  of  ruddy  gold  on  which  was  engraven  a  dragon, 
and  Gram  was  the  good  sword  with  which  he  was  girded.  His  noble 
horse  was  named  Grane  and  was  twelve  feet  high.  They  were 
inseparable  companions,  and  when  Sigurd  was  slain,  Grane  hung  down 
his  head  in  sorrow.  Sigurd  was  the  lover  of  the  piincess  Brynhild, 
whose  tower  was  encircled  by  enchanted  fire,  through  which  the  hero 
rode  to  seek  the  fair  maiden.  Their  passionate  and  mournful  history 
is  found  in  the  ballads  of  the  Elder  Edda  and  in  the  Lay  of  the 
Niebelungen  of  a  later  day. — (See  Prof.  R.  B.  Anderson's  Norse 
Mythology  and  Auber  Forestier's  Echoes  from  Mist-Land.') 

10.  Sotaskar  is  a  rocky  island  among  the  numerous  clusters  of 
such  in  the  vicinity  of  Stockholm.  Leucas  in  Greece  is  famed  as  being 
the  rock  whence  Sappho  cast  herself  into  the  sea  because  of  disap- 
pointment in  love.  The  story  of  Hjalmar  and  Ingeborg  is  as  follows  : 

Hjalmar  and  Odd  were  two  renowned  chieftains,  and  as 
subjects  of  King  Ane  the  Old  lived  over  eighteen  centuries  ago. 
Hjalmar  loved  Ingeborg,  the  daughter  of  the  king,  and  his  love  was 
returned,  but  the  king  opposed  their  union  for  the  reason  that  Hjalmar 
was  not  of  royal  lineage.  Odd  and  Hjalmar  were  one  day  met  at 
Sotaskar  by  their  enemies,  the  twelve  sons  of  Andgrim,  mightiest 
among  whom  was  Agantyr  with  the  sword  Tirfing.  They  two  slew 
the  twelve,  yet  when  Odd  turned  to  look  for  his  companion  who  had 
fought  Agantyr,  he  saw  him  leaning  against  a  mound  sorely  wounded, 
and  to  his  sad  queries  Hjalmar  answered,  "  Every  man  must  sometime 
die.  Bear  thou  my  farewell-song  to  Sweden."  Thereupon  he  sang 
the  famous  death-song,  which  I  in  part  translate  : 


Fair  the  king's  daughter 
Followed  beside  me, 
E'en  to  the  islands 
By  Agnefit. 


Notes  to  Axel.  2  2  \ 

True  was  the  tale  she 
Told  unto  me  then, 
That  she  should  never 
More  me  behold. 


Bear  to  the  king's  hall 
Corselet  and  helmet. 
Them  before  all  thou 
There  shall  display. 
Heave  will  the  heart  of 
Her  the  king's  daughter. 
Seeing  the  corselet 
Cut  in  the  breast. 


Free  from  my  finger 
The  ruddy  gold  ring ; 
Go  thou  and  give  it 
Young  Ingeborg. 
That  will  console  her, 
Soften  her  sorrow 
That  she  shall  never 
More  me  behold. 


Thus  died  Hjalmar.  Odd  bore  his  body  to  the  court  of  Ane  the 
Old,  placing  it  beside  the  door,  and.  entering  with  the  helmet  and 
coat  of  mail,  laid  them  at  the  feet  of  the  king  saying,  "  Hjalmar  is 
fallen."  He  then  sought  the  presence  of  Ingeborg.  She  sat  upon  a 
stool  weaving  a  mantle  for  her  lover,  and  Odd  approaching  her  said 
mournfully,  "  Hjalmar  greeteth  thee  and  sendeth  thee  this  ring  in  his 


222  Notes  to  Axel. 

death  moment."  Ingeborg  took  the  ring,  looked  at  him,  uttered  no 
word,  but  sunk  beside  him  under  the  spell  of  death.  Odd  thereupon 
bore  her  to  the  door  of  the  court  and  laid  her  in  Hjalmar's  arms 
muttering,  "  Now  shall  they  dead  enjoy  the  bliss  which  fate  denied 
them  living."  Hjalmar  and  Ingeborg  were  buried  in  the  same  mound 
at  Sotaskar.  Odd  wandered  far  off  into  strange  countries,  and  coming 
at  length  to  Jerusalem,  became  a  Christian.  The  tumulus  existed 
many  centuries,  and  it  is  related  that  the  spirits  of  Hjalmar  and 
Ingeborg  still  haunt  the  pkce. — (See  Fryxell's  Sweden.') 

II.  Aslog  was  the  daughter  of  Sigurd  and  Brynhild.  When  King 
Heimer  learned  that  her  parents  were  dead  and  that  Aslog  too  was  in 
danger,  procuring  a  large  harp,  he  concealed  within  it  the  child 
together  with  the  greater  part  of  his  riches,  and  in  the  guise  of  a 
beggar  wandered  to  the  far  North,  that  he  might  thus  averc  disaster 
from  the  little  one.  He  often  freed  her  from  confinement  in  the  deep 
forest,  when  none  was  near,  to  allow  her  glimpses  of  the  green  wood 
and  the  grass  and  the  blue  sky,  but  replaced  her  on  approaching  the 
abode  of  men.  One  evening  he  arrived  at  a  solitary  hut  among  the 
mountains  of  Norway,  where  dwelled  an  old  peasant  and  his  wife, 
and,  though  inhospitably  received,  was  given  a  place  to  rest.  The 
woman,  attracted  by  a  rich  fringe  protruding  from  the  harp  and 
by  a  golden  bracelet  under  his  ragged  sleeve,  prevailed  upon  her 
husband  to  murder  Heimer  as  he  slept,  whereupon  the  wicked  deed 
was  done.  The  harp  was  opened  and  Aslog  came  forth.  She  was 
taken,  clad  in  the  homespun  garments  of  the  people  who  now  assumed 
her  guardianship,  and  was  known  as  Kraka  the  Shepherdess  for  a  long 
time  afterward.  Subsequently  she  became  the  wife  of  King  Ragnar, 
her  beauty  and  intelligence  having  been  made  known  to  him  by  some 
of  his  subjects  who  were  travelling  in  that  portion  of  the  country.  For 
this  and  other  beautiful  northern  legends,  see  Anderson's  Norse 
Mythology}  also  for  the  names  of  Thor  and  Odin  which  are  mentioned 
in  AXEL. 


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